What Love Brought Into Being
by ak-stinger
Summary: AL slash and MPREG. Sequel to "What Is Meant To Be", but could be read alone. Four years have passed since Aragorn and Legolas wed. Now the pressure is mounting for Aragorn to provide Gondor with an heir, no matter what. COMPLETE
1. Child stirrings

This story contains **MPREG**, which means that a male character will be pregnant. I understand that a lot of people **HATE** this type of story. This is fair **WARNING** so that you can make the decision to **HIT THE BACK BUTTON **now instead of flaming me. Don't tell me that I need to take **REMEDIAL BIOLOGY**, as I've taken biology classes (and gotten A's, thank you very much). I know that men can't get pregnant in the real world, but I'm using my **IMAGINATION**, where it can rain gumdrops, kittens can sing baritone, and males can get pregnant (FYI, the first two things won't be happening in this story). Don't write me and tell me that both the mpreg genre and I are **IMMORAL** because, unless you're God, you don't have the authority to pass that judgment. I'm just posting my story here; it's **UP TO YOU** whether or not you want to read it. If someone is forcing you to read this story against your will, **CALL THE POLICE**; don't flame me.

_Title_: What Love Brought Into Being

_Author_:ak-stinger

_Rating_: R (see_ Warnings_)

_Pairing_: Aragorn/Legolas

_Disclaimer_: I own none of this (except for a made-up character here and there). It belongs primarily to the estate of the brilliant J.R.R. Tolkien and secondarily to Peter Jackson, et al. I'm making no money off of this (in fact, with all the pens I go through, I'm losing money), so don't sue me. You won't get anything much anyway, since I'd be homeless and hungry without student loans. The only thing I own outright is every movie that Orlando Bloom's made that I could get, and I'll put up a fight for those.

_Summary_: Sequel to _What Is Meant To Be_, although it's probably not vital to read that to understand this (but you can if you want!) Four years have passed since Aragorn and Legolas wed, and what four blissful years they were! But now, as representatives from the different lands gather in Gondor, the couple must deal with the growing political pressure to provide the kingdom with an heir at all costs – and what happens when that becomes a possibility in a rather unexpected way. (That's very muddled, I know – summaries are not my forte and I don't want to give away too much!)

_Warnings_: Just in case you missed that first section, **MPREG** (if you did miss it, scroll back up and read it now – I don't want anyone getting any nasty surprises). There is also **SLASH** of the M/M variety, complete with some sex. This is an **AU** and Arwen never existed. A mixture of movie and book elements, although the movie stuff will probably be more prominent. I have **METTLED** with the timeline and other aspects, so don't bother correcting me on those points, because I know and love the books and movies and every change I make is either deliberate or would be so if I had all the information.

On that note, there's someone out there who _really_ took offense when I stated that Legolas' age was just under 3,000 in WIMTB. He's that age in this story as well, so I'll add a special warning just for whoever that was.

_Feedback_: I love reviews. Compliments are always flattering and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. However, I won't beg for reviews and I won't hold a chapter hostage until I get a certain number of them. I believe that one review given by someone who's genuinely interested in my story is worth more than a thousand given by people who feel obligated to do so. Quality, not quantity!

Which leads us to flames. There is no such thing as a quality flame. You're just wasting the energy it takes to type and send a flame because all it does is make me roll my eyes and call you a pathetic loser. Then I delete the e-mail and, if you flame anonymously as most flamers do, remove it from my story reviews. Bottom line? Don't bother.

_Sorry that took so long! Onto the story!_

The common room of the Prancing Pony in Bree was filled with the sound of a voice singing a very strange song:

_"But Troll don't care, and he's still there_

_With the bone he boned from its owner._

_Doner! Boner!_

_Troll's old seat is still the same,_

_And the bone he boned from its owner!"_

The very small, very beautiful young blonde girl perched on the singer's lap clapped her hands with delight. "Again!" she commanded in a squeal.

"And perhaps this time, Aragorn," added the blonde elf who sat at the singer's side, "you should select a more, ah, _appropriate_ song."

The singer, Aragorn, laughed as he planted a wet kiss on the elf's – his husband, Legolas – cheek. "I will have you know, my love," he said with mock seriousness, "that it couldn't be more appropriate. After all, this child's father made that song up!"

"That may be," scolded Legolas playfully. "And maybe Elanor can handle it, but what about baby Frodo here?" He smiled down at the tiny, brown-haired hobbit infant that was nestled in his arms. "He might have nightmares about grave-robbing trolls."

"He won't, Legolas, I promise!" swore Elanor Gamgee as she bounced all around Aragorn's lap. "Sing the troll song again. Please Strider?"

"Elanor!" The children's mother, Rose, sounded mortified. "My dear, it's not proper to call them Strider and Legolas. They are _King Elessar_ and _Prince_ Legolas." She looked up sheepishly at the couple. "I do apologize for my daughter's boldness, my lords."

""No need to apologize," declared Aragorn joyfully as he lifted the girl into the air. "She's entirely correct; I am Strider. Uncle Strider! Yaaaaaaay!"

Legolas gave Rose a sympathetic look as she stared dumbfounded at the image of one of the most powerful Men in all the lands spinning her Elanor around. She wasn't exactly used to the situation or entirely comfortable around them yet. After all, she was just a normal hobbit lass who just happened to be married to the famous and renowned Samwise Gamgee. Because of that, her family was always sent letters from all sorts of people, her children received more than their fair share of strange and exotic toys all year round, and now this. The king and prince consort of the ever-expanding realm of Gondor doting upon little Elanor and Frodo was a little hard to take in.

"Don't worry about it," he told her kindly. "Neither of us wish to be addressed so formally by the children of a dear friend. And your Sam is a very dear friend."

"I know," replied Rose. "All of this is just very strange." She sighed as she continued to Aragorn and Elanor. "He is good with her though, isn't he? He'll make an excellent father." Her eyes got round when she realized what she'd just said. "Oh, I'm sorry – I guess – I guess that's not possible..."

"No, it isn't," said Legolas, hoping that his expression didn't show how much this very thing had been weighing heavily on his mind as of late. No male elf had become pregnant since Sauron almost succeeded in covering Middle Earth in shadow during the Second Age. "I suppose we'll have to make do by spoiling your children."

"Really?" asked Rose with a quirk of an eyebrow. Legolas smiled his most irresistible smile and kissed her hand.

"Now don't go charming my wife, Legolas," teased Sam as he sat down next to them. "I'm going to start thinking that you had some other, more sneaky, reason for wanting to come see us besides just meeting Rosie and the kids in person."

Aragorn slid Legolas an almost guilty glance as he stopped twirling. "We did have another reason," he confessed.

Sam's ears twitched a little. "Oh?"

"Yes," Aragorn confirmed. "It's been on our minds for a long while – almost since the moment we all went our separate ways after the war, in fact. I just wish we'd done something about it before Frodo and Mithrandir took – took the ship."

A sad silence fell over the group. "We want you to come to Minas Tirith," Legolas told Sam and Rose as he rested a comforting hand on his husband's arm. He'd heard the hitch in Aragorn's voice and knew that he wasn't just thinking about the hobbit and wizard. The Man's foster father, Elrond, and Galadriel had left for the Undying Lands on that same ship. "You two and your family, plus Merry and Pippin."

"Permanently?" squeaked Sam.

"For a visit," chuckled Legolas. "Of course, we wouldn't _mind_ if you made your stay permanent, but that probably won't happen. We can be content with a visit."

"I don't know," demurred Sam. He cast a torn look at Rose. "There's so much going on in the Shire and we'd feel so out-of-place..."

"Not at all!" protested Aragorn. "In fact, if you come with us when we depart from Bree, you'll make it to the White City in time for a great meeting. Peoples from all across the land are going to be there to discuss the future of Middle Earth. My brothers will be there, as will Eomer. Think about it as representing the Shire. Please?"

"You haven't seen Minas Tirith since just after the coronation and wedding," added Legolas. "The change is amazing, with all the stonework the dwarves have been doing and the trees and gardens being tended to by the wood elves. It's all really quite beautiful."

They could see the hobbits' protests breaking away. "It would be nice to see what work's been done there," hedged Sam. "And Merry would probably like seeing King Eomer again."

"The feeling, I know, is mutual," Aragorn informed him. "He will always consider Merry to be a true rider of Rohan after what he did for Eowyn."

"Who, incidentally, also wants to see Merry," Legolas enticed further. "And Faramir has been longing to see both you and Pippin, Sam. I do believe he holds your opinion in the highest regard."

"I wouldn't mind getting a look at the place that Sam's talked so much about," admitted Rose. "I'm curious to see if my husband's really as famous there as Mister Frodo always said he was."

"Shall we go, Rosie dear?" Sam asked his wife with growing excitement.

Rose nodded impulsively. "Let's do it," she agreed.

"Splendid!" cried Aragorn as Legolas grinned in agreement.

"What's going on?" asked Elanor, who was still in Aragorn's arms and confused by all the grown-up talk.

"We're going to see Minas Tirith, my lass," explained Sam, standing up and gently lifting her into his own arms. "That's where Strider and Legolas live, where all those ceremonies were before you were born."

"Neat," she said sleepily. "And Uncle Merry and Uncle Pippin are coming too?"

"We might have to pester them about it when they get here tomorrow morning," he told her, "but they'll be coming." She smiled and yawned again in response.

"Oh dear," said Rose warmly. "Sam, I do believe it's time for the children to go to bed."

Legolas politely rose to his feet as she did the same. "Thank you for allowing me to hold baby Frodo," he said as he handed the infant back to his mother. Frodo smiled in his sleep, causing something much too complicated to deal with at this time of night to stir deep within his heart. "He's so adorable; they both are. You two have been most blessed."

The couples bid each other goodnight and headed off to their rooms. "I told Butterbur that we wanted the room I usually stayed in when I came here as a ranger," Aragorn told his husband. "He got all tongue-tied and embarrassed, saying that it wasn't anything fancy or special."

"You didn't torment that poor innkeeper, did you?" inquired Legolas suspiciously as Aragorn unlocked door.

"Would I do that?" responded Aragorn innocently, batting his eyelashes. Legolas couldn't contain his laughter. "Quick, inside before you wake up everyone!"

Legolas hurried into the room and looked around. "Not much in here," he commented. "Just a table, a fireplace, and a bed."

Aragorn grinned a naughty grin as Legolas sat down on the edge of the bed and took off his boots. "That's all we really need," he purred suggestively. Legolas immediately caught onto his tone and pulled off his tunic as well in response.

"I'll have you know," he continued, kicking off his own boots, "that I had some _very_ wonderful dreams in this bed. A good many of them involved a certain gorgeous elf waiting all naked in here for me after a journey. By the time I would come into the room, he'd need me so badly that he just barely takes the time to pull my pants down before knocking me to the floor."

The elf removed his leggings and sprang to his feet. "I'm so glad you've finally returned to me," he gasped desperately, easily slipping into the dream persona. He dashed the short distance to where Aragorn stood and undid his pants, sliding them down just enough to free his arousal. "I need you, meleth. Don't make me wait any longer."

To be continued...

_A/N: I was going to wait until tomorrow to post this, but what the heck? My brain is totally fried from doing homework all afternoon and I need to do something I enjoy._


	2. The marriage bed

Sex, Aragorn decided a while ago, was a lot like a one-on-one fight. Both involved heat, sweat, ragged breathing, and loud, broken cries. Not to mention a lot of thrusting. But sex was far more enjoyable, mostly because the other person wasn't an orc focused on killing him but the most beautiful creature in the world. A creature who was stark naked and straddling his lap, voicing his pleasure while he surrounded the Man with tight heat.

"Ai, Elbereth," Legolas moaned. His head rolled back as he let out a wordless cry. "Saes – amin mela – Aragorn!"

Aragorn was squeezed even tighter, pushing him over the edge just seconds after his husband peaked. They stayed panting in that position – Aragorn sprawled out on the floor with Legolas seated on top of him – for several long moments before the elf regained his power of speech enough to ask, "Did I make your dreams come true?"

"You make all of my dreams come true," Aragorn gasped out.

Legolas responded with a passionate kiss as he moved against the Man, eager for another round. "I need you," he begged, gasping as Aragorn's hands traveled all over his body. It seemed like every inch of his skin was alive with want and anticipation. "Take me, please. Make love to me all night."

"Again?" purred Aragorn. Legolas always had an incredible amount of stamina, but lately... "You've been positively insatiable these last weeks."

"I can't help it," pouted Legolas as he reluctantly climbed off of Aragorn's body to make his way over to the bed. "The night is young and my husband is irresistible."

Aragorn pretended to think it over. "Well, since you put it that way," he 'decided', laughing when Legolas threw him a dirty look. "Just give me a moment to take off these clothes. My dreams never prepared me for how sweaty I was going to get, being almost completely dressed like that."

"My poor meleth," Legolas teased, gracefully lying back on top of the covers with his legs spread and his knees in the air. "Dreams rarely prepare you for reality. If it makes you feel better, I really like it when you're nude; in fact, I think you should be that way all the time."

"The people of Gondor might have some objections to that," sighed Aragorn.

"What makes you think you'd ever leave the bedroom?" asked Legolas as if the very notion was ridiculous.

"In a perfect world," the king replied wistfully, smiling with contentment and love as he gazed at the elf draped out on the bed. "I love the way you look after we make love."

"Oh?"

"You always open every part of your body, like you're just waiting for me to come back for more," he murmured seductively. "Your eyes glaze over –"

"I'm imagining you naked," Legolas informed him matter-of-factly. "How long does it take to take off a shirt and a pair of pants?"

A smile spread ear-to-ear across Aragorn's face as he obligingly stripped off his shirt. "You lay back," he continued, "keeping those legs open, like you can still feel me making love to you."

"I can," breathed Legolas, twitching his legs just enough for his love to notice. He caressed a nipple with his finger and let out a shuddering breath. "I'm imagining you making me feel so much pleasure. You're the only one who can..."

Aragorn salivated at the sight before him and the thoughts those words put into his head. "I love you," he professed. "I really, truly love you."

"I love you too," replied Legolas, looking him straight in the eye. "With all that I am, I love you." He paused, considering. "Are you having trouble taking off those pants?" he finally asked, exasperated.

"A little," Aragorn playfully 'admitted,' a touch of feigned pathetic helplessness in his voice. "I can't seem to take them off all by myself."

Legolas shifted on the bed, sitting up. "Come here," he beckoned.

He made his way over to the edge of the bed. "Why thank you," he said with exaggerated politeness. "Please hurry. I hate to keep my husband waiting."

"Yes, I'm sure he's aching for you at this very moment," agreed Legolas courtly, sliding them down the Man's legs.

"Much better," declared Aragorn as he stepped out of those bothersome garments. He gently pushed the elf back down on the bed. "Now let me do something about that ache," he moaned, flashing a feral grin.

Those were the last coherent words either of them could say for a long time that night.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO 

It was much later when the couple laid back on the pillows, sated. Legolas listened to the sound of the fire crackling and his husband's breathing as he felt his own heart beating in his chest. Exhaustion was threatening to overwhelm him, as it had been doing all too frequently during the last few weeks, but he didn't want to sleep. If he did, he'd only dream about the laughter of a child that would never be; of a future that would never come into being...

"My love?" Aragorn whispered, startling him out of his broodings.

"Yes?" inquired Legolas as he snuggled closer to his body heat.

"Do you remember our wedding night?"

He could feel laughter shaking the elf's body. "Vaguely," Legolas told him flippantly. "Only every second, every breath, every emotion, every jolt of pleasure, and every single detail about how you looked, sounded, smelled, tasted, and felt. Just little things like that."

"It was the first time we made love," sighed Aragorn, allowing himself to get lost in the memory.

"I was so eager and nervous all at the same time," recalled Legolas. "No one ever really talked to me about sex; Ada's entire lecture about it consisted of _'don't do it unless you're married and maybe not even then.'_ I managed to pick up a few details as I got older, but I was still so worried that I'd disappoint you."

"There is no way you could ever disappoint me," Aragorn assured him, clutching him even closer.

"You were so sweet and supportive," continued Legolas in a murmur. "Now what were those oh-so-romantic words you wooed me with after we took off our clothes? Oh, yes: _'Don't worry, my love; you may be an only child with an overprotective father but _I _have two older brothers.'_"

Aragorn nuzzled his hair affectionately. "I just wanted to let you know that I knew where everything was," he protested. "What it all did when I touched it the right way. And most of all, that I knew how to put that information to good use."

"I can't deny that you did _that_ quite well," agreed Legolas with a warm smile. "Afterwards, I couldn't move at all; I just had to lay there feeling my bones tingle."

"I aim to please."

"Your aim was true," Legolas whispered in his ear confidentially, deliberately using more breath than was necessary so he could feel his husband shiver. "Of course, you continued to charm me with your verses: _'And there are A LOT more positions we can do that in, too!'_"

Aragorn chuckled good-naturedly, blushing at the memory of words he'd blurted out in excitement. "Alas, meleth," he sighed, falsely forlorn. "I fear my poetic skills peaked when I was ten-years-old."

"And for that I'm glad," responded Legolas, suddenly serious. He sat up and stared into his face. A vulnerability that few people were allowed to witness was plain to see in his expression. It never failed to stir Aragorn's heart. "I never trusted the poetry and flowery words of others; they were all too thought-out to be genuine. One of the things I love most about you is that you care more about loving me instead of just sounding like you you do. It may not always come out in the most eloquent way, but every word you let slip out is more beautiful to me than the greatest love poem ever composed."

They'd been together for years, for decades really, and Legolas could still bring tears of joy to Aragorn's eyes. The Man put his hand on the back of his husband's head and pulled him into a loving kiss. "We were late for our bath that night," he remembered, making his voice light even though intense emotion could still be heard in his tone.

"That poor servant," laughed Legolas. "He was just doing his job, trying to get us there before the water got cold, and instead he had to hear me moan, _'It's happening again! More!'_"

"He blushed for a week," commiserated Aragorn. "Of course, it was all your fault that he caught us in such an intimate moment."

A pout ghosted the elf's face. "How so?' he demanded, teasingly petulant.

"I had gotten out of bed a good time before he knocked," Aragorn pointed out. "It was you who grabbed me, enticing me to pleasure you again."

"If a grab is all it takes to lead you astray," debated Legolas, "I think you should also take some of the blame."

"Not when you take into consideration just _where_ you grabbed me."

"It was the easiest place to grab," Legolas argued. Aragorn felt a hand glide down his stomach. "I just wanted you to get back under the covers with me." A feather-light touched stroked his arousal, causing him to let out a guttural groan. "And I happen to like touching you here. You don't find this enticing, do you?" he added innocently.

With one swift motion, Aragorn flipped Legolas onto his back and rolled on top of him. "Do I seem enticed to you, my insatiable love?" he asked roughly as he slid a hand up in between the elf's thighs.

"Oh, Aragorn," scolded Legolas, still teasing even as he moaned under the touch. "Again?"

"Yes, again," Aragorn breathed against his neck. "Always again. Ours will be a lifetime full of again."

To be continued...

_A/N: I am so overwhelmed by the response to the first chapter of this story. Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to review!_

_FYI, there's a chance that I could actually use as a topic for one of my final papers this semester. Are any of you guys out there interested in taking a survey? If you are, let me know; if you are and don't want to review, my e-mail address is on my author's page. If you know of anyone else who uses this website and would be interested, have them drop me a note. I promise that all personal and identifying information will be kept confidential. And finally, if anyone knows how I can contact the administrators of the site, that would be helpful too. Thanks!_


	3. Elvish mood swings

Being away from the pressures of court life and in the company of hobbits seemed to have a remarkable affect on Legolas' appetite, Aragorn decided. In all the years they'd known each other, the elf had always eaten sparsely, picking at his food and sometimes even forgetting mealtimes entirely. However, now he was more than keeping up with the three hobbits that were eating breakfast with them.

"Aragorn, could you please pass the bread?" he asked, swallowing the last mouthful of food at almost the same time.

Pippin gaped as Legolas eagerly tore himself another piece. "I'm impressed," he said, and he really meant it. "Are you sure you're not part-hobbit?"

"I probably will be if I stay here much longer," Legolas bantered. "This place just has a way of making me hungry."

"I, for one, am sorry that we're leaving," yawned Aragorn. The stay at the Prancing Pony had been an enjoyable, if tiring, time. His days had been occupied of visits with his hobbit friends – especially since Merry and Pippin arrived the week prior – while his nights were spent making love to his husband. All that lost sleep was finally catching up to him. A few more days spent like that might just kill him, but he could think of worse ways to die.

Merry let out a long sigh. "I suppose I should get ready if we're going to be leaving today," he groaned, casting one last forlorn look at his empty plate before rising to his feet.

"It has to be wrong to leave so soon after eating," protested Pippin, trying to shake off his food-induced lethargy. "Setting off on long journeys just makes me hungry again. We'll just have to stop for second breakfast after going for a bit."

"Strider doesn't believe in second breakfast, remember?" Merry ribbed him as they headed toward the door.

"It would take us a year to get to Minas Tirith if we stopped for every hobbit mealtime!" Aragorn called after them defensively.

"Although I'm sure we can make an exception every now and again," Legolas added hastily between bits.

The Man shot his husband a disbelieving look. "I wish Gimli could see you now," he chuckled. "You could probably even out-eat him today."

Legolas bristled. "I'm hungry," he snapped, throwing what was left of the piece down on his plate. "Would you rather I never ate at all?"

"No," answered Aragorn, not quite sure how else to respond. He was quite taken aback; while Legolas' stubborn temperament sometimes led to interesting – and loud – _discussions _during their marriage, he'd never reacted that badly over an innocent remark before.

Sam squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. "I – I guess I should go see how Rose and the kids are coming along," he stuttered, trying too hard to sound casual.

The royal couple sat in silence for a few moments after he sprinted out of the room. "I'm sorry," offered Aragorn. "I didn't mean to upset you. I just meant –"

"I know what you meant," Legolas interrupted, not taking his eyes off his plate. "I'm the one who's sorry; I shouldn't have snapped at you like that."

Aragorn reached across the table and clasped his hand, caressing it gently with his thumb. "Think nothing of it, meleth," he reassured warmly. "You know that you don't have to always be on your best behavior around me."

"I don't know what's wrong with me lately," the prince lamented. "I just –"he paused, catching himself before everything he'd been trying to hide came spilling out –"I just hope Sam still comes with us."

"It'll take a lot more than one unpleasant moment to care off Samwise Gamgee," Aragorn declared. "Don't worry about it. Soon the citadel will be filled with the hot air of noblemen trying to outdo each other with proper compliments for him and his family."

"And the halls will be filled with the sound of children," murmured Legolas to himself.

"Legolas..."

'_Did I just say that out loud?'_ "I just meant that it seems so quiet in there sometimes," he joked, backpedaling fiercely. "Although we'll probably miss that peace in a day or two."

Aragorn was far from convinced. "Had Cirion said anything to you about the subject of children?" he asked suspiciously.

Legolas' face twitched as he racked his brain for the right way to put this. "He mentioned a few things to me," he admitted reluctantly.

The Man slammed his fist down on the table, causing his husband to jump. Cirion was one of his noble advisors and an insufferable person to be around. Aragorn would have dismissed him from his service in a heartbeat if he thought he could do so without causing a major scandal. If he'd been harassing Legolas about what he guessed... "What exactly did he say?" he demanded.

"Nothing that I didn't already know," answered Legolas, weariness in this hone. "That you, as a mortal king, need an heir, even if I can't be the one to assist you in such an undertaking. He has a point," he added, his voice breaking a little along with his heart.

"He has a daughter," Aragorn shot back darkly. "Cirion has been trying for years to marry her off to whoever the most powerful man in Gondor happens to be at the moment. Since now there's no hope of her becoming my queen, he'll gladly push for that poor girl to be my breeding partner. It's disgusting and I won't stand for it!"

"I'm not saying! –" Legolas stopped short and took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down before they disturbed everyone in the entire in and really _did_ scare the hobbits out of coming. "I'm not saying that you should go and procreate with that Man's daughter the second we get home," he began again. "I just wish this wasn't so complicated. It didn't always have to be; in the First Age –"

"I know," murmured Aragorn, the tension draining from his body. Was thatthe reason why his husband had been so unusually emotional – both in bed and out – these last few weeks? "The evil of Sauron robbed males elves of their ability to bear children, and such an evil cannot ever wholly be undone. This shouldn't be your concern, my love, and I'll put an end to it once we get back to the White City."

"What will you tell the advisors?"

"That I refuse to have a child with anyone who isn't you."

Now _that _would be an interesting meeting to sit in on. The roar of protests would be deafening, and the ensuing scandal simply too delicious for the court gossips to let go of it for years. "And what about a future king of Gondor?" persisted Legolas.

"Why should my heir _have_ to be my child?" asked Aragorn somewhat rhetorically. "Eomer isn't Theoden's son; does that make him any less worthy or legitimate?"

"They were still blood kin, Aragorn," Legolas argued back. "Besides, he only became Theoden's heir because no other option was available."

"As far as I'm concerned, no other option is available in our situation either." The Man's face was as stern and hard as his voice. "The blood of Westernesse runs true in Faramir, and his line is almost as noble as mine. With his permission, I'll name his child my heir when the time comes."

"Am I to be responsible for the line of Luthien failing, then?" asked Legolas, his guilt not subsiding.

"Elladan and Elrohir are of that line too," Aragorn reminded him wryly. "One of them can worry about carry on that bloodline."

One more detail that the nobles would immediately protest nagged Legolas. "Faramir and Eowyn only have one child," he pointed out. "And Findowyn is a girl."

"Numenor had two female rules in its time," replied Aragorn blithely. "I'll have them consider that when they start in on the issue."

"I'd like to be there when you let them know all of this," Legolas said, forcing the statement to come out as a joke. He didn't really mean it, of course. If he were there, some of the nobles would glare at him and make casual-but-humiliating remarks, resenting the fact that he "lured" the king away from their daughters even when he knew he couldn't do everything that a royal spouse should be able to do. But even that would be easier to deal with than the looks of pity he'd get from the others; their poor prince consort, having to deal with the unchangeable reality of being childless.

"Please don't worry about this any longer," Aragorn urged. "It will all work out the way it should, I promise."

Nausea rose up in Legolas' stomach, sharply reminding him of something he desperately wanted to hide. "You're right," he choked out hastily, jumping to his feet. "If you'll excuse me, I need to check on Arod before we leave."

He dashed off, leaving his concerned and bewildered husband in his wake.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Legolas barely made it into the stables before he vomited. Arod whinnied, worried and slightly perturbed. "I'm sorry, mellon nin," he gasped out, feeling utterly wretched. He was on his hands and knees in his horse's stall regurgitating his breakfast, he realized. Hot tears sprang down his cheeks as the queasiness kept coming – he wondered if Aragorn would think he was so beautiful if he saw him now.

A hand stroked his hair as he heaved again. "Legolas?" Pippin's voice asked gently. "Is there anything I can do? Should I go get Strider?"

"Don't!" he cried quickly before he could catch himself. "I just shouldn't have eaten so much. It seems that an elf's stomach wasn't meant to handle hobbit-sized portions."

"That's not it," Pippin observed sagely. Legolas looked over at him and was surprised at the wisdom the hobbit's expression held. "You might as well tell me what's really going on; I'll only pester you into it later if you don't."

He helped the elf sit back away from the evidence of his nausea. "Thank you," Legolas murmured sincerely as Pippin plopped down in front of him. "It's –"he started, but his voice and body were shaking too much, both from the after-affects of vomiting and from the emotion of admitting this aloud for the first time, to continue.

"You're starting to scare me," Pippin told him nervously. "I'm sure it can't be all that bad; you probably just need to talk about it with someone."

"I've been ill for a few months now," Legolas confessed in a small voice. "It's like my body's falling apart, Pippin. I don't feel balanced anymore, I'm irritable and exhausted, my" – he blushed –" my _needs_ are out of control, and now this nausea is getting stronger. I've tried everything, but nothing's helped. I had to become mortal to bind myself to Aragorn; perhaps mortality is just checking up with me. I – I just seem to be getting worse."

"You're not saying that? -" Pippin broke off, sobbing. "You're dying?"

Legolas nodded. "Either that or I'll just remain sickly for the rest of my life."

Pippin knew he should be comforting the elf instead of selfishly crying, but he couldn't help it. He'd already lost Boromir to death and Frodo and Gandalf to Valinor; the thought of losing yet another friend was unbearable! "Can't you tell Strider?" he pleaded. "He's an amazing healing. There must be something he can do!"

"No!" Legolas was adamant. "I don't want our last days together before bed-confinement or death to be filled with tears and regret. Please, Pippin; I ask for nothing else but for you to keep this between us. Promise me."

It wasn't right, but Pippin couldn't say no; what if his refusal just made Legolas worse? "I promise," he vowed reluctantly.

To be continued...

_A/N: I pulled the name "Cirion" out of the Appendices; "Findowyn" is a combination of the names of Faramir and Eowyn's mothers_.

_All of you reviewers continue to blow me away. Thank you! And a special thank you to those of you who volunteered to take my survey; I'll get it to you this upcoming week (I would have done it this last week, but I've been buried under homework - I was so frazzled, I forgot to put my survey request in my "Troy" fic!). I could still use some more volunteers. Please, people? (insert hopeful smile here). It's for a paper on the social systems surrounding fan fiction; the class it's for is a beginning requirement for my degree and therefore is rather boring. I won't use your real names, share the surveys with anyone else, give out your e-mail addresses, and I will shred it all once the paper's turned in. It would definitely make this semester more bearable. :-)_


	4. The more things change, the more they st...

The weeks spent traveling back to Gondor were torture for Legolas. It was already difficult enough to hide his deteriorating condition from his husband; trying to keep it a secret from the hobbits as well was almost impossible. He was succeeding – for the most part – in controlling the mood swings, but his stomach refused to cooperate. Slipping away at a moment's notice to hide the results of his nausea was not easy when one was around others almost every second of the day. Worst of all, Legolas was absolutely exhausted and he could no longer hide _that_ from his companions.

He bristled as Aragorn rode even closer to his side. "Are you trying to ride on top of me?" he asked, allowing some irritation to creep into his voice.

"I'm just worried," answered Aragorn defensively while guiding Hasufel a minuscule distance away from Arod. "You gave us all quite a scare yesterday; I've never seen Pippin so upset!"

Ah, yes; yesterday. Legolas had drifted off to sleep during a long stretch of riding and almost fallen from Arod's back. When he'd awoken, he was spread out on the ground looking up into the concerned faces of Aragorn, Sam, Rose, and Elanor. Merry was sitting a short distance away holding Pippin, who'd broken down in hysterical sobs the second he saw the elf slump. The poor hobbit was convinced he was dead; Legolas was just lucky that he hadn't spilled his secret.

"I just needed a little rest," Legolas said softly. "I didn't mean to worry anyone."

Aragorn hesitated for a second and then spoke. "I think it would be better if we didn't journey the rest of the way to Minas Tirith until tomorrow."

Legolas felt slightly insulted. "I can still carry on," he snapped. "No need to make everyone camp out another night on my account."

"What is –"Aragorn began, but thought better of it. He could find out what was wrong with his husband later, when there wouldn't be an audience for the ensuing fight. "I just thought it would be nice to stay in Ithilien tonight. That way, we can all be at our freshest when we arrive at the city and you can visit with your father."

It was a selfless offer to make and Legolas knew it. They would have to veer from their path to get there and Aragorn could have easily used that as an excuse not to have to spend time around Thranduil. While they respected each other as rulers and accepted the other's love for Legolas, their own relationship was best described as "strained." The elven king was uncomfortable with the fact that his son was married and dealt with it by not acknowledging Aragorn's existence unless it was absolutely necessary. The Man hated how Thranduil could still make if feel like that 21-year-old ranger whom he'd caught kissing Legolas in that meadow in Mirkwood. He tried to cover it up with nervous babbling that did nothing to endear him to his father-in-law. Knowing that he'd deal with that in order to give him the chance to lean on his father for support before returning to the pressures of the court meant a lot to Legolas.

"Thank you," he whispered. "I love you so much, even when I'm being horrible."

"You're not," replied Aragorn firmly. "Remember, you don't have to be the perfect Sun Star for me; I prefer the real Legolas. Besides," he added, hoping to lighten the mood, "your father probably wants to see you as soon as possible. I swear, he'd sleep in between us if we'd let him. That would make our sex life a little difficult, wouldn't it? Well, perhaps not; it's not like we don't have sex during –"

"Aragorn, stop!" cried the horrified, if amused, elf. Aragorn's jaw snapped shut. "I beg you in the name of Elbereth, please don't mention our sex life in Ada's presence."

"Right."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO 

The land of Ithilien was stunning to behold. It looked like a place that was blessed by the wood elves, which in fact it was. While Legolas couldn't deny that he was saddened when the elves of Mirkwood decided to leave that ancient realm to either depart for Valinor or to relocate to Ithilien by the Anduin River, he knew that his father made the right choice. The elves that remained out of love and loyalty to Mirkwood's royal family shouldn't have to risk life and pain defending a dwindling realm from giant spiders when such an ideal land would graciously welcome them. Now those traditionally xenophobic people were living side-by-side with the Men governed directly by the Steward Faramir, practically in the shadow of Minas Tirith. It made for an _interesting_ situation, to say the least.

"Mae govannen, ion nin!" cried Thranduil, throwing his arms around his son. "My Little Greenleaf! Oh, how I missed you. You've been away far too long once again."

He pulled away to study Legolas more carefully, but still clutched at his arms. "Have you been sleeping?" he fussed, a frown deepening on his face. Legolas sighed inwardly; his Ada didn't seem to know how to be anything but pointedly direct. "It doesn't look like you have. I know that you've told Gimil that you don't need a lot of sleep, but trying to get some every night is still a good idea."

"Has Gimli been here?" asked Legolas incredulously. He still couldn't get used to his father's friendship with the dwarf. Apparently an ages-old prejudice against one another's race and a personal grievance involving an incident with Gimli's father – among others – and Mirkwood's dungeons could easily be overcome by a shared belief that Legolas needed their constant guidance, protection, and presence to lead a good life.

"A few times," replied Thranduil casually, not breaking away from his scrutiny. "Hobbit food seems to be good for you. You were always a bit too skinny, but now you've filled out a bit. Perhaps your guests can make more of it during their visit, and instruct those mortal cooks at the palace how to prepare a proper meal. Welcome, hobbits!"

"Mae govannen, King Thranduil," Sam, Merry, and Pippin greeted in unison, sounding very much like children reciting something for school. They were a bit uncomfortable in the presence of the unfamiliar elf and Thranduil's rather dominant personality did little to put them at ease.

"This is Sam's family, Ada," presented Legolas, trying to break the ice. "Rose, his wife, and their children Elanor and Frodo."

Ever bold and curious, Elanor marched forward right up to the elven king. "Are you old enough to be Legolas' father?" she demanded suspiciously.

Rose and Sam looked like they wanted to die of embarrassment right then and there, but Thranduil wasn't fazed a bit; he of all people could appreciate bluntness. "Yes," he replied in a businesslike tone. "Do you own a toy sword?"

"No."

"Thank Elbereth," he declared. "For you are about the same age as Findowyn, the Lord Faramir and Lady Eowyn's daughter, and she does have one. She keeps poking me with it, calling me a balrog and other such nonsense; she's heard the story of Glorfindel too many times. She's not a bad child, mind you – a bit like my Legolas, in fact, with an overabundance of spirit – but I cannot say that I have not enjoyed the quiet since she went with her parents to Minas Tirith, so her father could manage it in the king's absence."

A look of remembrance flashed across his face and he turned to Aragorn. "Hello," he said rather stiffly. "I suppose I should tell you that Elladan and Elrohir arrived two days ago. They await your return in the city."

"Thank you," replied Aragorn equally rigid.

They all stood in silence for a moment, just feeling the tension in the air. "Well," blurted out Merry, desperate to escape all the discomfort. "I suppose we should be getting to bed then. Long day and all tomorrow."

"Yes, of course," agreed Thranduil hurriedly, sounding more than a little grateful at the respite. "Let me see; hobbits like to sleep close to the ground, correct?" He barely gave them the chance to nod before continuing. "A very strange habit indeed. Oh, well. The Men of this land built an inn that is nice enough, I suppose, as far as those things go. You should all be quite comfortable there. Legolas, you'll be staying with me, of course."

Legolas frowned at the order and its implications. "Do you that Aragorn should stay at the inn as well?" he asked warily.

"One night would not..."

"Aragorn and I are married now, Ada," he interrupted firmly. "There is no reason why I shouldn't stay where he's lodging."

"Oh, that's okay," rushed out Aragorn, seeing an opportunity to perhaps improve his relationship with his father-in-law. "You stay here with your father; I know that you miss being able to sleep in the trees. Besides, it's no hardship on me, since we sleep together all the time!"

Thranduil looked at him sharply, horror in his expression. "I didn't mean it like that," the Man retracted desperately. "I just meant that we share a bed all the time, not that we do – _that_ – all the time. I don't have the stamina of an elf, after all! Not that I'm not fulfilling my husbandly duties; let me assure you that Legolas is well satis-"

"_Aragorn!"_ cried Legolas, thoroughly mortified for both himself and his love. "Show the hobbits to the inn," he instructed, pacing his words deliberately as if talking to a small child. "Then you may return here. We will sleep on one of the talans. That way, Ada and I can spend some time alone before we retire. Okay?"

"Yes. Good idea," nodded Aragorn vigorously, beet-red and eager to get away from Thranduil's glare. Legolas' father looked like he wanted to remove choice parts of his anatomy. "Come along, my dear friends."

Merry and Sam managed to wait until they were somewhat out of earshot from the two elves before cracking up with laughter. "Oh, Strider," hooted Merry. "I want to thank you. Now every time I say something incredibly stupid to a lass' father, I'll remember this and feel so much better!"

"Now, now," Sam mock-scolded. "Don't go judging him so harsh. I'm sure that Thranduil was very happy to learn how much stamina his son has."

"Or how much he satisfies him in the sack!" added Merry, laughing so hard that tears were streaming down his face.

"Stop it!" demanded Pippin, upset. He hadn't been in a joking mood since Legolas confided in him at Bree and was determined to find some way to provide the prince with _some _comfort without spilling the beans. "Legolas was really upset back there. You should do something to get along with his father, Strider, if only for his sake."

"I've tried!" lamented Aragorn. "But there doesn't seem to be a way to do it. I'm afraid, Pippin, that it will take something big to forge any kind of bond between Thranduil and myself."

To be continued...


	5. Reunions and confrontations

_A/N: There was some confusion among those of you who haven't read "What is Meant To Be" about the friendship between Thranduil and Gimli. They met at Aragorn and Legolas' wedding celebration and were sort of stuck together because the happy couple had other things on their minds :-) After an awkward moment, Gimli (who'd developed fatherly feelings for Legolas) started telling Thranduil how his son didn't know how to take care of himself. Thranduil concurred and a friendship began._

"All hail King Elessar and Prince Legolas!" shouted out a voice as the couple rode through the magnificent gates of Minas Tirith.

Aragorn raised his hand to quiet the ensuing cheer. "People of Gondor!" he announced grandly, though – even after four years – he still felt ridiculous acting so dramatic. He saw the corners of Legolas' mouth curve upward at his _kingly_ behavior. "We welcome back to the city the most esteemed halflings; Meriadoc Brandybuck, Peregrin Took, and Samwise Gamgee with his family. Minas Tirith is honored by their presence!"

An amazed and nervous Rose clutched baby Frodo and Elanor closer as the crowd cheered its greeting. "Is this really for us?" she whispered to Sam, still expecting it all to be some grand joke.

He nodded earnestly. "Men like doing things all grand-like," he explained with a blush in his cheeks.

"The people of Gondor are pleased with the return of all of your party," Faramir's voice sounded loud and clear. The crowd gave way, allowing him and his family to pass through.

"Greetings, Steward of Gondor," replied Aragorn, hating the showy nature of his tone. Years of living in the Wild as a ranger cemented him into a straightforward Man with little use for the fancy words and ceremonies that the nobles seemed to relish in and the commoners expected. It was all a part of ruling his lands, though, and he endured it all with a combination of resignation and amusement. "I trust that everything is well in the kingdom?"

"Quite well, sire," answered Faramir with a twinkle in his eye. Aragorn had quickly grown to appreciate the steward after reclaiming the throne. After all, how many Men were there that had lived both the lifestyle of a ranger and within the courts of the White City? Faramir had proved to be the perfect liaison between plain-worded king and the often-pretentious nobles on the advisors' council. "All has been made ready for your arrival; and the advisors have already convened to meet with you at your convenience."

Aragorn groaned inwardly. Could they not give him an hour to himself? "I'll be there shortly," he said, hoping that he wasn't wincing in a noticeable way. His mood lightened considerably at the sight of two identical brunette figures charging forward through the dissipating crowd. "But first I must attend to other matters."

"Is that all we are to you then, Estel?" prodded Elladan as he practically pulled his younger brother off of Hasufel's back. "Just some matters for the mighty king of Men to deal with?"

"I'm afraid that's all we can be now," Elrohir sighed melodramatically, playfully shoving his twin away from Aragorn, brushing imaginary dirt off of the Man's clothing. "What are his two loving brothers compared to getting his boots licked by a bunch of wordy Men? I apologize for delaying you, my liege."

Legolas slid off of Arod's back with an inaudible grunt of discomfort. "Be nice to him," he warned, though he made no move to stop the twins as they crushed his husband between them in a rather enthusiastic hug. "I've been mean enough on this trip to last him awhile."

"You? Mean to him?" Eowyn laughed out loud at the thought. "What happened? I can only imagine that you let a day slip by without mentioning your unwavering love for him."

"No, I" – he paused anxiously, lowering his voice so that only she could hear – "It was more than that. Let's not talk about it right now."

She frowned at this. "What happened?" she demanded immediately, not at all uncomfortable with ordering him to divulge personal information. Their relationship began a tad unconventionally, as far as friendships go. He was never jealous of the strong feelings that she held for Aragorn; because he knew that the Man loved him and because he saw a lot of himself in the White Lady of Rohan. Both of them were younger members of royal families ruling over troubled lands, frustrated at being overprotected. For her part, she accepted that the ranger would never love her and even comforted him at Helm's Deep when he feared that Aragorn was dead. He returned the favor in the Houses of Healing while she was recovering from her injuries after defeating the Witch-king. Their friendship had only grown since they both married and moved away from their own peoples.

"It can wait," he assured her, smiling at the sight of someone waiting impatiently to speak to him. "Hello, Gimli!"

"Laddie," greeted the dwarf gruffly as Legolas bent down and embraced him. He broke the hug to examine the elf's face. "Are you tired? You look tired. I bet you didn't get a wink of sleep the entire time you were away."

"It's nice to see you too," replied Legolas with a roll of his eyes. "We came back in just time. You're starting to read my father's thoughts; another week of just having him to talk to and you two would have the same mind altogether."

"That's not so!" Gimli protested. "I could never think like an elf. It's just that I happen to agree with Thranduil about what's best for you. You don't seem to know how to take care of yourself."

"My lord." All eyes turned to Faramir. "I'm sorry to interrupt the long-awaited reunions, but the advisors are waiting..."

"I'm coming," groaned the king, steeling himself. "I've been meaning to make a few things clear to them anyway. Do you wish to witness this, my love?"

"I think I'll have to decline," answered Legolas wryly.

"We'll take the hobbits on a tour," decided Gimli. "Show that all that the dwarves, elves, and Men have accomplished here since their departure. You can just find us afterward."

Eowyn raised her eyebrows at Legolas as she noticed the grim expression on Aragorn's face. "Now why do I get the feeling that they're about to attend a very _interesting_ meeting?"

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

"King Elessar!" greeted Cirion importantly as Aragorn and Faramir entered the hall. He jumped from his place at the table where the advisors were sitting. "We are most pleased –"

"Silence," grunted Aragorn, briskly walking past him to take his place at the head of the table. "And sit down while you're at it. There is something that I should have made resoundingly clear a long time ago and I'll have no courtly patience in debating the matter."

"Your highness?" asked another advisor, shifting apprehensively in his seat. The king seemed to be in a dangerous mood today. "What matter would that be?"

Aragorn glowered at all of them. He knew deep down that he shouldn't be so indiscriminate with his displeasure – some of them were actually good Men and invaluable counselors who genuinely respected his husband and their marriage – but at the moment all he could think about was that pained, guilty expression on Legolas' face when they talked over the breakfast table at Bree. "This concerns my heir," he told them.

The almost-simultaneous intake of breath was audible. "Really?" asked Cirion. Aragorn sorely wished that it would be _proper_ for him to slap the eagerness out of the noble's face. Had the Man no shame? "You have reached a decision, then, about who will provide you with a son?"

"That decision was made many years ago," the king declared fiercely. "I will not create a child with anyone who is not my husband. Nothing will change that."

"But my king!" Cirion protested. "Why should you have to remain childless, when –"

"If you value your title and your life, you'll hold your tongue," spat out Aragorn in fury and disgust. "By the Valar, is that what you've been whispering in Legolas' ear? That he's forcing this on me?"

All the color drained from Cirion's face. "I-I have not said anything to the prince," he stuttered.

"Let me remind you that there are dire consequences for lying to your king," warned Aragorn darkly. "Imagine my surprise when your words of advice on this very subject came out of his mouth while we were away. It's like receiving a dagger to the heart every time I see his misery about not being able to bear children."

"You are not being reasonable!" Cirion argued stubbornly. He was too invested in his plans to give up without a fight. "He came to Minas Tirith with his royal title, so he must not be completely ignorant of the privileges a king enjoys. He should expect you to take a noble mistress since he is not able to fulfill –"

"And what _noble mistress_ to you wish me to take?" The entire council slid as far away from the table and the debaters as they could get. Faramir discreetly moved into a position that would allow him to jump in between them at a moment's notice should any physical violence break out.

"I have never been more disgusted by any Man in my entire life," Aragorn continued, not bothering to contain his rage. "Your daughter will never be my queen, my mistress, or the mother of my children. Stop offering her to me and every other powerful man in Gondor like she's your prized breeding mare!"

The entire room went deathly quiet. Cirion was staring wide-eyed at the king, who firmly stood his ground. There was not a soul in there that knew how the noble would react once he gained his senses.

"Sire!" Everyone jumped as a young man's voice screamed for the king from outside in the corridor. The door burst open without so much as a knock and a teen that Aragorn recognized as Bergil rushed in.

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded Faramir in exasperation. While the diplomatic side of him wished to deter any conflict between the king and an advisor, he knew from personal experience how Cirion treated his daughter. He'd been disappointed when both the king and the steward wed and had even gone so far as to imply – at the celebration after his wedding, no less – that Eowyn might not be _womanly_ enough to continue his line. No, Faramir didn't doubt for a second that the noble's harassment of Legolas was even worse. He was elated to see him being called on it; this interruption couldn't have come at a worse time!

"I'm sorry!" cried Bergil hurriedly.

There were tears streaming down the boy's face and he made no attempt to hide them or wipe them away. "It's all right, Bergil," Aragorn assured him. "Please tell me, what's so important that it couldn't wait until after the meeting?"

"It's Prince Legolas, sire."

"Legolas?" gasped Aragorn. "What happened? Is something wrong with him?"

"I don't know!" lamented Bergil, shaking his head vigorously. "He was just walking around with the Lady Eowyn and her daughter, and with the Lord Gimli, and those two elf lords and the hobbits! They were all talking and laughing and stuff like that. There was no warning!"

"No warning about what?" cried Aragorn desperately.

"The prince collapsed," Bergil reported, his frightened eyes filled with tears. He had admired Legolas since he first came to the city, being both fascinated by the fact that he was an actual elf and thrilled with the amazing adventure he'd just taken part in. Knowing about what just happened would have been terrible; actually _seeing _it happen was utterly devastating. "One minute he was standing and the next he was sprawled out on the ground. They tried to wake him up, but they couldn't. One of the elf lords – I don't know which; I can't tell them apart – shouted something about his eyes being shut or something like that. I don't know what that would mean, but he sounded so – so worried. They sent me to bid you come to the Houses of Healing as soon as you can."

To be continued...

_A/N: The next chapter will be a longer one; some important stuff to cover in it (hint, hint!)._


	6. The news

"Where is he?" cried Aragorn frantically as he burst into the corridor where the hobbits, Gimli, Eowyn, and little Findowyn were waiting. Faramir followed closely after. "What happened? Is he all right? Is he awake?"

"You need to calm yourself, my lord!" Faramir broke in, interrupting Aragorn's outburst. "You'll be ho help to Legolas in this state. And it would not be prudent to let the people see you like this; it will cause panic and worry about his condition."

Eowyn smiled sympathetically at the king. "You know he's right," she said soothingly. "Perhaps we should have the healers prepare a calming tea for you."

Aragorn looked at her sharply. "No healer should have the time to make me tea or anything else!" he snapped. "I want Legolas to have their undivided attention. He is their only charge as far as I'm concerned."

"They were all sent away," Sam informed him hesitantly.

Aragorn was positively outraged. "By who?!" he roared.

The others took a step back, but Eowyn held her ground. "By your brothers," she told him firmly, refusing to be cowed by his mood. The slayer of the Witch-king could more than handle a frantic Aragorn. "They said, and quite rightly so, that no healer in the city save themselves know enough about the elven body to be able to attend him properly."

'_Elladan and Elrohir are with him,'_ Aragorn told himself, forcing down a deep, calming breath. _'Ada trained them in the arts of healing, just as he trained me. There is probably no one left in Middle-Earth that would be better to have in there with him right now. Oh, how I wish Ada was here, or Mithrandir, or Galadriel!'_

"Sire?" asked Faramir tentatively, placing a hand on Aragorn's back.

"I'm better now," Aragorn assured him, shuddering as he exhaled. He turned his pleading eyes to the others. "Please, please tell me what happened. Everything; don't try to protect me."

Merry looked at him, still holding a sobbing Pippin in his arms. "There isn't much to tell," he reported sadly. "We weren't doing anything but walking around and talking. Gimli was explaining all of the different things that the dwarves did to repair the walls when we noticed that Legolas wasn't walking with us anymore. He was just staring off at nothing and before we could ask him what was wrong, he swayed and collapsed. Nobody knows why." At this Pippin let out a wail and Merry stroked his hair comfortingly.

"I can guess why," Gimli declared fiercely. "He was absolutely exhausted! I could tell from the second I saw him this afternoon. The trip was too much for him."

"That don't sound right," interjected Sam. "Elves aren't supposed to get all tired like that. And anyway, he went all that way with the fellowship and never did nothing like this."

"What else could it be?" argued Gimli. "I know his father noticed it too. Besides, that journey was different. We took turns with the watching back then, so he had the opportunity to get a little sleep at least. Did he get any while you were away?"

Elanor surprised everyone by speaking up. "Nope," she announced with authority. "'Least not at the pony inn."

"What makes you say that?" asked Aragorn.

"Because I heard you, silly," she told him. "Every night you and Legolas were always up for a long time, making all sorts of funny noises."

Findowyn looked at her curiously. "What kind of noises?"

"Findowyn!" Eowyn and Faramir scolded at the same time.

Rose clapped her hand over Elanor's mouth before she could answer or worse, give a demonstration. "Our rooms were fairly close together," she explained with obvious embarrassment.

Smoke was practically coming out of Gimli's ears as he moved threateningly toward Aragorn. "You fiend!" he accused, his face bright red with fury. His hand danced around the axe strapped to his side. "You drove that poor lad to exhaustion just to satisfy your lust."

Aragorn turned ever so slowly and stared at him. The hall was perfectly silent for a moment as everyone braced themselves for what would happen after the Man properly digested what the dwarf said.

"What's lust?" Elanor asked, figuring she'd take advantage of the grown-ups' quietness.

That snapped Aragorn out of his stupor. "How _dare_ you?" he hissed angrily, his entire body tense as if preparing to spring in attack.

"I think now would be a good time for the children to leave," Rose suggested nervously to anyone who was listening.

Gimli wasn't about to back down or apologize. Somewhere deep down he knew he'd probably regret this later, but all he could focus on at the moment was his overwhelming concern for the elf that he loved as a son. "I dare because he collapsed in the streets of Minas Tirith and the blame is entirely yours!"

Eowyn nodded at Rose. "Take the girls and the baby and _go_," she advised forcefully. The hobbit woman didn't need to be told twice. With baby Frodo in one arm, Elanor's hand secured in her free hand, and Findowyn following at her mother's urging, she scurried out of the corridor.

Aragorn took no notice of their hasty exit. "I am so tired of this," he raged at Gimli. "Of his father's attitude, of your insinuations, of the both of you watching us all the time! He's my husband not a child, for Elbereth's sake! Yes, we made love every single night in Bree; so? You should be congratulating us for keeping the passion alive for so long in our relationship, not accusing me of hurting him. I would _never_ do that! I'm sick of you two acting like I'm forcing myself on him every time we go into a bedroom!"

"If you're the one that's so sick of everything, then why is it Legolas that's in need of healers?" Gimli shot back nastily.

Pippin tore himself out of Merry's embrace and clamped his hands over his ears. "Stop it!" he screamed hysterically, tears poring down his cheeks. "Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it!"

"I agree," said Elrohir hardly, coming out of a room and closing the door behind him. He fixed a very Elrond-like glare on Aragorn and Gimli. "What about this little exchange to do you think is helping Legolas?" he asked them pointedly.

"I –"

"Shut up," he told his younger brother abruptly. "I don't want to hear any more accusations and I definitely don't want to hear you defend your childish behavior. In fact, the only thing I do want to hear right now is anyone telling me anything that would help explain why Legolas fainted."

"He's been sick," blurted out Pippin in desperation and despair. He couldn't handle keeping Legolas' secret any longer! Besides, it wasn't really breaking his promise since he'd only promised not to tell _Aragorn_ and this was one of the twins. "For a really long time now, too. He told me."

All eyes turned to the hobbit. "How –"Aragorn began.

"What did I just tell you?" interrupted Elrohir impatiently. "Go on, master hobbit. Did he tell you why he thought he was sick?"

"It wasn't just his thinking!" cried Pippin. "I caught him throwing up in the stables in Bree the morning that we left and I know he's done it again, more than once, on the trip. He said that his body was falling apart and he couldn't control it anymore, or his emotions either. It's been - been going on for a few months now and h-h-he's not getting any b-b-b-b-better."

"Why didn't he tell me about this?" Aragorn demanded, risking his brother's wrath yet again.

"He didn't want you to know," sobbed Pippin. "He thought it would make you too worried and sad."

The door behind Elrohir opened. "He's awake," Elladan informed them, relief evident in his voice. Aragorn stormed past him into the room without so much as a word or a glance. "Estel?"

Elrohir pulled his twin out of the doorway. "We need to talk," he said, his eyes widening as realization hit.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Legolas was just getting settled again after sitting up in bed when Aragorn charged in, his face practically purple. He could hear Gimli yelling from the corridor, but the Man slammed the door before he could enter. "My love?" the elf asked cautiously.

"Really? Your love?" spat out Aragorn petulantly. "If I'm your love, then why didn't you tell me that you're so ill?"

"I'm –"

"Why didn't you tell me?! Why could you tell Pippin and not me?!"

"Wait one moment!" shot back Legolas, not about to just sit back and tolerate being yelled at. "I only told Pippin because he caught me. It wasn't like I was counting the days until I could confide everything to him! I didn't want to tell anyone!"

"Why would you want to keep such a thing a secret?" Aragorn was determined to get some answers, good or ill, from his husband.

"I didn't want to worry you!" cried Legolas. "All I wanted was for us to spend our last good days together in bliss rather than in tears."

"Well, I can understand that," mocked Aragorn sarcastically. "Why tell me in private, breaking the news as gently as possible so we can face it together, the way a couple should? It was so much better to hear from Bergil in front of the advisors' council that you just collapsed all of the sudden. How could I not see that before?"

"I was trying to protect you," Legolas snapped.

"I am your _husband_!" roared Aragorn, pouring all of his anguish and frustration into that one word. "We are supposed to be partners. You're supposed to trust me with everything. But you never have, had you? Not with this; you kept your mortality a secret at first too. After all these years, you still see me as that ten-year-old boy in Rivendell who needs to be protected from difficult things because he can't handle it."

Legolas' body was trembling violently. "That's not true!" he shrieked, his voice cracking as his eyes filled with tears. He cursed himself for falling apart like this but couldn't hold it back. "I know you can handle this or anything else, but you shouldn't have to! I've been nothing but a trouble and a burden ever since the first time I told you I love you. First my father presents you with almost impossible challenges before letting us get married, then I become mortal without even knowing it. I can't bear any children and now I'm ill. You should be with someone who doesn't have all of these problems. You can be once I'm – I'm gone."

Aragorn's mouth was hanging open. Was that really how Legolas saw his part in their relationship? "No," he declared passionately, sitting on the edge of the bed and grabbing Legolas' face with both hands. "Why are you saying these things? I could never fall in love with anyone but you. I would've pulled the sun out of the sky if that's what it took to marry you, and not because I thought you'd be immortal forever, never get sick, or fill the citadel with children. It's because I love you, even when you make me furious. Don't you understand? I wouldn't be _me_ without you in my life."

"Oh Aragorn," Legolas sobbed, falling into his open arms. "I love you too."

"I know," Aragorn whispered, pressing a kiss into his hair. "Let it out, my love. You don't always have to be the strong one in this relationship."

What little was left of Legolas' composure crumpled. "I'm scared," he admitted. "Ai Elbereth, I don't want to die and leave you!"

Aragorn tightened his arms around him. "We don't know anything for certain yet," he comforted. "Whatever it is, we'll face it together. Just let me be strong for you."

The door opened slowly. Elrohir and Elladan came into the room, but Gimli scurried around them with a scowl. "Blasted elves blocking the door!" he growled at the twins before making his way to the bedside. "What's going on? Are you all right?" He turned his glare on Aragorn. "What were you thinking yelling at him like that?"

"I'm fine," assured Legolas, wiping someone the tears from his face. "Don't start in on Aragorn."

The hobbits had entered cautiously as well, followed by Faramir and Eowyn. "I had to tell them, Legolas," confessed Pippin. "I'm sorry."

Legolas smiled as reassuringly as he could. "That's quite all right, Pip."

"Sorry to interrupt," Elrohir broke in, "but we really, really need to examine something."

Elladan batted Aragorn away. "Back off, little brother," he instructed. "Elrohir's got a theory that would explain everything. He just has to confirm it."

Sliding off the bed reluctantly, Aragorn stood back just enough to give Elrohir room. "Is everything well?" Faramir asked him.

Aragorn's eyes didn't leave his husband as Elrohir helped him lie flat on his back. "It will be if I have any say in the matter."

Elrohir lifted Legolas' tunic and felt his stomach for several minutes. "Elladan!" he called out, his eyes alight with wonder. "Get over here now!"

Elladan hurried over and repeated his twin's examination. "Ai Elbereth!" he gasped. "By the Valar, you were right!"

"What?" Aragorn felt like he was going to burst.

"You're not ill, Legolas," Elrohir told him, barely able to contain his excitement.

"I'm not?" asked Legolas, not understanding his mood but feeling the tiniest bit of hope for the first time in months.

"No," confirmed Elrohir. "You're pregnant."

To be continued...

_A/N: Wow, over 100 reviews already! You all seriously rock; I'm overwhelmed and grateful by all the positive responses I've gotten for this story. Thank you!_


	7. Our baby

"What?" whispered Legolas, feeling his heart pound throughout his entire body. Did Elrohir really say that he was pregnant, or was this just another sweet, cruel dream?

Elrohir wore an excited smile as he took one of Legolas' hands and guided it to his stomach. "Do you feel how hard that is?" he asked gently. "It's that way to protect the baby."

"Concentrate," instructed Elladan. "You should be able to feel it move."

Legolas closed his eyes, focusing on feeling the life that was growing inside of him. "Not it," he announced softly. "Him. The baby's a boy."

His eyes were glistening when he opened them. "I've been such a fool," he continued as the tears escaped and ran down his cheeks. "He's been trying to tell me that he's here for months now! Invading my dreams with his laughter, changing my body, and today...today I _saw_ him. He'll look just like you, Aragorn, except he'll have my eyes and ears. All this time I thought I was being taunted with what I couldn't have! I'm so sorry, ion nin; your ada is just very stubborn sometimes."

He lowered his head as his entire body began to tremble. Elrohir immediately put a comforting arm around his shoulder. "Don't worry, Legolas," he soothed. "Everything is going to be all right."

Legolas looked up, revealing that the trembles were from laughter rather than crying. "Of course it's going to be all right," he guffawed, all the while tears still spilled from his eyes. "I'm going to have a baby! I'm going to have _our_ baby, Aragorn!" he added, turning to his husband.

Aragorn stood rooted to his spot, absolutely dumbstruck, his mouth slack. "Estel?" prompted Elladan.

The mouth opened and closed a few times. "Very good," Elladan praised. He shook his head to rid himself of unsettling flashbacks to the time when he and his twin toilet-trained their two-year-old little brother and required similar encouragement. "Now try to make noises when you do that."

"How?" Aragorn got out with some effort. "How did this happen?"

Gimli looked at him, completely ashen-faced. "That seems to be the question of the hour," he declared.

Since Aragorn truly looked ready to faint, Elrohir decided to spare him the reiteration of the _where babies come from_ lecture. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "How does an ancient gift, robbed from the firstborn by the rise of Sauron, return now to a mortal elf of all people? This really wasn't discussed in any of our lessons."

"Ada gave you some of his lore books before he left, right?" asked Elladan.

"They're – they're in the private library on the second floor of the citadel," stuttered Aragorn, still dazed.

"I think that we should start looking for the answers there," Elladan suggested to his twin.

Elrohir nodded his agreement. Sparing Legolas one last squeeze and giving his little brother a pat on the back, he followed Elrohir out of the room.

Aragorn didn't react to their departure; in fact, he hadn't moved at all. A horrible thought flashed into Legolas' mind: what if his husband wasn't happy about the baby? He never said that he _wanted_ children. What if he'd always been secretly relieved that he couldn't bear children? "Aragorn?" he asked, suddenly feeling very exposed and uncertain. "Are you – do you – are you happy about this?"

"Happy?" Aragorn looked at him sharply and the elf's heart twisted. "I didn't want to have a child with anyone who was not my husband. But _you _aren't not my husband. You're him! And now a baby. Wow. I – never – thought – and – now – I –can't –"

"Sire!" cried Faramir, catching Aragorn as his knees gave out. "You must breathe. No good has ever come from not being able to breathe."

Eowyn grabbed the king's arm and hoisted it over Faramir's shoulder. "Perhaps he should lie down," she suggested emphatically. "Legolas, could you move over a little?"

The hobbits stared as Faramir led Aragorn to the bed and carefully laid him beside his husband. "Well," stated Sam abruptly. "You learn something new every day, as my old Gaffer always said."

"Yeah," agreed Merry, awed at the turn of events. "I never knew that male elves could have babies like this. Imagine what that's like!"

"How do you think the baby's going to come out?" Pippin whispered to them curiously.

"That's enough now," Gimli shot out hastily. "Let's give them a little privacy." He made his way to the bed, where Legolas was stroking Aragorn's hair as the Man tried to get his breathing under control. "If you need anything laddie..."

"I'll send for you," the prince assured him gratefully, leaning over enough so that the dwarf could plant a kiss on the top of his head.

"Good." Gimli gave Aragorn a long look and remembered with regret the things that he accused him of. He should know better than anyone how deep the love between Gondor's royal couple was; how could he think, even in such a state of emotional distress, that Aragorn would use the elf in such a cheap manner? _'Apologize,'_ he scolded himself mentally.

"I –" he started, but dwarven pride kicked in and he couldn't do it in a room full of people. "He might not be the best one to have around when the time comes for this laddie to come into the world," he advised gruffly. "Just a thought. Come, hobbits!"

Eowyn smiled as they passed by her and out of the room. "I think they have the right idea," she told her husband. "It looks like Legolas can handle things from here; let's give them a little time alone."

"Not quite yet," he answered. "First we need to figure out what to tell the people. You collapsed in public, Legolas, and in front of a good many people. There must be rumors that you're ill, dying, or the Valar-know what else, spreading like wildfire. Not to mention that the advisors' council heard the same account of events from Bergil that Aragorn did; I'm sure they've worked themselves up into a state by now."

"How would this state be different from the way they normally act?" groaned Legolas, not wanting to think about such unpleasant things at the moment. The advisors were not going to spoil his joyful mood! "Tell the people that I have been tended to and declared well enough to be released from the Houses of Healing." He paused to give Aragorn an indulgent smile. "Yes, tell them that, and share nothing more than that with the council. Aragorn and I should be the ones to make the offical announcement about my pregnancy."

A blissful look crossed his face as he mentioned the word. _Pregnancy. Pregnant._ He rubbed his stomach with his free hand, allowing his elven senses to connect with the little life inside of him. "I don't suppose that Men remember that male elves once bore children, do they?" he asked wistfully.

"Some may have read about it," replied Faramir, though his doubtful expression told otherwise. "But they probably think it is only legend and myth. I'm afraid that all of that is far beyond the memory of living Men."

"And I'm sure that if Cirion or some of the other advisors knew," added Eowyn, disgust evident in her voice, "they would have said something nasty about it by now."

Legolas frowned. "I wish there was some way to let them know at least that male elves could have the ability to bear children," he fretted. "Were I female, one of the rumors out there would be that an heir will soon be born. I fear that not all of the people will be ready to just accept a pregnant male when we make the announcement."

"I think we can handle that," Eowyn stage-whispered to him in a conspiratorial tone. "Just leave it to us. Let's go, my husband; I have an idea."

As soon as they left, Legolas leaned over and started planting butterfly kisses all over Aragorn's face. "Come back to me, my love," he urged, brushing their lips together. "I need you to come back now."

Slowly but surely Aragorn's eyes came into focus. "Legolas," he whispered, stroking his husband's face before letting his hands fall to rest on his stomach.

"That's our baby," Legolas told him, positively giddy.

"Our baby," repeated Aragorn, breathing the word reverently. He bent down to kiss the barely perceptible bulge. "I'm so glad you're here, my child."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

"Tell me again, why are we looking for Ioreth?" asked Faramir as Eowyn dragged him all through the Houses of Healing in search of the old healing woman.

"How did everyone know that Aragorn was Isildur's heir before the final battle?" she asked him pointedly. "Because Ioreth saw the clues, heard the hints, and told _everybody_. And right now the people will believe anything that anyone who was in the Houses says about Legolas' condition. We just need to plant a little seed into her mind."

She paused at the sound of rustling in one of the nearby rooms. Peering in and confirming her suspicions, she gestured for Faramir to come closer. "It's amazing, isn't it?" she asked, projecting her voice so that Ioreth could hear her clearly.

"It truly is," agreed Faramir at the same volume, catching on quickly to his wife's scheme. "I plan on joining the Lords Elladan and Elrohir as soon as I address the nobles about the situation. It was good fortune that they were here to provide their knowledge of ancient lore when it was needed today, but the prince will need someone else to understand all of this, should they need to depart before the time comes."

Ioreth's ears perked up at the mention of the elf lords' names. Were the lord and lady discussing Prince Legolas' condition? She'd cursed herself several times after the twins informed everyone that they didn't know enough about elven health to properly attend to the ailing prince. Perhaps this was something she could learn, something that would better prepare her to care for him! She strained her ears to listen.

"It's an ancient gift," Faramir continued.

"Of course!" replied Eowyn. "If it were a recent one, I'm sure everyone would know about it. How could anyone miss seeing a pregnant male, even if the male happens to be an elf?"

Ioreth clapped a hand over her mouth to keep the gasp from escaping.

"It was too long gone for any to hope for its return," said Faramir.

"That's what they said about the return of the king as well," Eowyn reminded him.

"You are correct, my wife." Faramir gave her a loving kiss. "Now where is she? Ioreth!" he called out.

The sound of crashing could be heard as the healing woman knocked over everything in her path as she dashed across the room, putting as much distance between herself and the door as possible so that they wouldn't know that she had been eavesdropping. "I'm in here, my lord!" she answered hurriedly.

Faramir and Eowyn could barely contain their laughter when they saw her desperately trying to appear casual, as if she'd spent this whole time checking on the herb bottles on the back wall. "Greetings," said Faramir stoically. "Will you bring the Prince Legolas some tea in about an hour? Nothing too strong, mind you."

"Yes, of course," she nodded, failing to hide her eagerness. "Is the prince's stomach bothering him?"

"Not exactly," hedged Eowyn. "The Lords Elladan and Elrohir just think that he should be more careful about what he eats and drinks for a little while."

"We'll leave you to your work," Faramir couldn't help smiling as Ioreth practically bounced in place. "The advisors will be anxious for news about the prince's condition right away."

Eowyn leaned against her husband as they departed from the Houses of Healing. "I love it when you're all clever and deceptive like that," she teased.

"I'm flattered," he bantered back. "After all, Dernhelm is the authority on clever deception." He laughed as she tightened her grip on his hand in a playfully threatening manner at the mention of her old disguise. "I think we accomplished our goal."

"Yes," she smirked. "The people will be sufficiently prepared for the news now. In fact, they'll be waiting for it."

To be continued...


	8. Bliss interrupted

Aragorn and Legolas laid together in their gigantic bed, enjoying the peace of a new morning and the privacy of their private chambers. They'd had a minor disagreement when Legolas refused to spend even one night in the Houses of Healing, but the elf – having more experience at being immovably stubborn – had swiftly gotten his way. Houses, in his opinion, had too many healers that were always popping into the room; all Legolas wanted was to be alone with his husband and bask in the knowledge that a life was growing inside of him.

The sun of the new morning cast its light on the couple, illuminating Aragorn's face as he nuzzled his husband's stomach. "I love you," he murmured.

Legolas smiled down at him. "Which one of us?" he teased.

"Both." Aragorn lifted his head to kiss his husband on the lips. "Now why do you feel like you have to ask such a question? Have I been neglecting you this morning, meleth?"

"A little," whispered Legolas serenely. "I need a lot of attention, after all. But I can forgive you."

"It's just so amazing," stuttered Aragorn, not being able to resist lowering one hand to the slightly bulging stomach once again. "How many gifts can Eru bestow on one Man? In my lifetime I've seen the fall of Sauron, rested my eyes on the most beautiful being imaginable, been lucky enough to have said being fall as much in love with me as I am with him – even married me – and now this...." His voice trailed off and tears glistened in his eyes.

"I know," Legolas told him, putting his hand on top of the Man's splayed one, lacing their fingers together. "I was blessed from the moment I saw you, even though it took me eleven years to realize it."

"I wish that I could freeze this moment in time," sighed Aragorn. "This is perfect. It should always be like this."

"Where is the king? We demand to see him at once!"

"And yet it's like this all too often," groaned Legolas, rolling his eyes at the sound of an advisor's voice. "Did he just say _'we'_? How many of them do you think are out there?"

"The king and prince will see no one this morning!"

"Not so many that the guard can't subdue them," commented Aragorn, immensely pleased with himself that he had the foresight to post a guard just outside their chambers. "Don't worry, my love. That guard is very, well, _dedicated_. I told him not to that no one is to enter unless the circumstances are dire, and he's good at taking instructions."

"I thought that you didn't want the people of Gondor to fight amongst themselves," Legolas reminded him lightly.

"This doesn't count," protested Aragorn. "They're not people; they're _advisors_."

"We have come here for some answers and we're not leaving until we get them!" shouted one of the advisors from the other side of the door. "It is in the best interest of Gondor that we know everything. Prince Legolas mysteriously collapsed yesterday. He should be in the Houses of Healing, but when we went there to check on him this morning –"

"And you wanted me to spend the night there," groused Legolas pointedly. Aragorn shuddered and pulled him closer.

"- and he was not there!" the irate voice continued. "Now there are preposterous rumors flying all around the city. How can we advise King Elessar if we are not sufficiently informed as to what is going on?"

"We must know the prince's condition," added a voice that Legolas and Aragorn noted – with more than a little disgust – belonged to Cirion. "A serious illness in the monarchy will cause an unacceptable amount of political instability unless plans are made. We need to be prepared for any possible circumstance."

"And just what circumstances do you expect to find here?!"

Legolas shot straight up, dragging Aragorn with him. "What is my father doing here?" he asked in a hissing whisper. "How could he possibly know anything that happened yesterday."

"There's nothing faster in all the lands than gossip, especially court gossip," replied Aragorn with a groan. "All of Minas Tirith knew that you collapsed within an hour of it happening. The news must have reached Ithilien –"

"And Ada came here at once."

"Do you think that I do not know what passes through your shriveled minds?" Thranduil continued to rage from outside the chambers. "The lot of you dream that one day my Legolas will...depart, leaving that husband of his unattached. For the sake of peace, I hope that never happens! Ai Elbereth, who would dare to guess what state the rule of Gondor would be in if one of your brainless daughters were queen?"

"That's Ada," stated Legolas, sounding remarkably detached. "Making friends wherever he goes."

"Did you hear that?" asked Aragorn excitedly. "He said something that could be interpreted as positive about us being together!"

The comment that would have accompanied Legolas' sideways glance was cut off by Cirion's indignant cry. "I will not be spoken to like that!"

"Especially not twice within 24 hours," Aragorn told his husband, feigning wide-eyed seriousness.

"He's not terribly bright, is he?" clucked Legolas.

"You will and you have been!" declared Thranduil in disgust. "Now leave my child to his rest before I have the finest elven archers in Ithilien make you wish you had."

As Aragorn could attest to, the elven king was quite intimidating, especially when he was furious. The couple wasn't at all surprised to hear several footsteps scurry away from their door and down the corridor. "Now let me in," Thranduil ordered, his voice full of threats.

The Man was aghast. "I thought he wanted you to be left to your rest!"

"Ada sees himself as a calming influence," Legolas explained.

"I'm – I'm terribly sorry," squeaked the guard. "I was left with strict instructions to not let anyone get past unless the circumstances were dire."

"If I'm not allowed to see my son right now," Thranduil growled, sounding downright feral, "then I'll see to it that things get exceedingly dire right away. Now either _open that door or get out of my way!_"

The click of the door opening came a second later and Legolas' father burst into their bedroom – without knocking. "My poor Little Greenleaf," he cried, rushing to the bedside.

"Ada," greeted Legolas.

"Good morning sir," chimed in Aragorn.

Thranduil eyed them, the censure in his eyes making them both keenly aware that the Man still had his arms around Legolas. "I beg your pardon, Aragorn," he said, though his tone made it clear that he believed that Aragorn should be the one begging _his_ pardon. "But my Little Greenleaf is ill. Now is not the time to try and engage him in any such – _acts._"

Legolas let out an exasperated sigh as a red-faced Aragorn sheepishly let his arms drop. "We weren't doing anything," he said with an annoyed singsong. "And it wouldn't matter if we were because I'm not ill."

"You collapsed in the streets!" protested Thranduil as he stroked his son's hair. "What other explanation could there be?"

"It's good news," Legolas told him. "Wonderful news, actually."

"The best kind of news," added Aragorn.

"What is it?" asked Thranduil cautiously.

"I'm pregnant, Ada."

The mild expression on Thranduil's face made it seem like Legolas had just told him something more along the lines of 'the sun is really bright today'. "Ada?" he pried carefully. "Did you hear what I just said? I'm pregnant."

"What makes you say that?" his father asked. His tone remained calm, though its hurried rhythm revealed vast amounts of emotion.

"The fact that I'm carrying a child," replied Legolas happily. He grabbed Thranduil's hand and pressed it against his stomach. "Do you feel that, Ada? That's your grandson."

"Oh," the elder elf breathed, indeed feeling the life that was inside his son. He blinked several times as tears sprang to his eyes. "Oh my child. My Little Greenleaf! You yourself were a miracle and now Eru has seen fit to give you a little miracle of your own. There are no words that can describe my joy!"

Aragorn just sat there as they embraced, feeling like an intruder in his own bed. _'Oh for Elbereth's sake, stand up for yourself!'_ "I said something like that!" he blurted out. "It's really wonderful."

Thranduil looked over at him as if startled by his presence. "Yes, well," the elf king hedged, realizing how uncomfortably close he was to having to face the fact that his son had at least once had sex with his husband. "Does – does anyone know how this came into being?"

"My brothers are trying to find an answer to that right now," Aragorn was feeling a little bit bolder. "It wasn't like we planned this or anything. This all came as a bit of a shock."

"Indeed," said Thranduil shortly, squirming a little.

"Perhaps they have some news already," interjected Legolas, ever the peacemaker. "I think it would probably be better to hear it in smaller pieces rather than having to listen to the entire explanation all at once. Guard!"

The young guard peered timidly into the bedchamber. "Yes, my lord?"

"Please bring the Lords Elladan and Elrohir here right away," instructed the prince. "And tell them to bring any information that they may have uncovered."

The guard bowed hastily and sprinted off. "There," Legolas declared. "We should learn _something_ now at least. Would you like anything to eat before they come, Ada? Or something to drink – water, tea...wine?"

"No," said Thranduil. "I want nothing else but to stay at your side. You are going to need me, Little Greenleaf. Perhaps I should stay in the city so that I will always be on hand..."

_Stay in the city?_ It was difficult enough having him in Ithilien! With images of his father-in-law staying in bed with them until their son's birth flying unbidden into his head, Aragorn silently begged his brothers to hurry.

To be continued...

_A/N: This is kind of short; I'll write a longer chapter next week when this current batch of papers is completed and I have my sanity back._


	9. The real world barges in

"That guard, Estel," reported Elladan, "is an _idiot_."

"We came here not even thirty minutes ago with news," Elrohir elaborated as he watched his irritated twin pace at the foot of the bed. "He told us that you two wouldn't see anyone unless the circumstances were dire; no matter what we told him, it was always _'unless the circumstance were dire'_ over and over again. That would've been annoying enough, but he then he had to come down just when we got comfortable and order us to come _back_ up all those stairs because you requested our presence."

"He was just doing his duty," Legolas informed them serenely.

Thranduil scoffed in his chair beside the bed which – must to Aragorn's growing discomfort – the royal couple were still in. "That nitwit was not going to allow me to enter either," he pointed out.

Legolas discretely squeezed Aragorn's hand as the king swallowed a groan. "I'm glad that he takes his duty as seriously as he does," Aragorn managed to get out, feeling slightly nauseous as visions of his father-in-law barging in day and night still plagued him. Really now, how much more could he stand?

"Let's not belittle some poor guard who's not even here to defend himself," scolded Legolas. "We didn't ask for you two before we were even out of bed and dressed for the day to gossip. You said you have some news?"

Elladan stopped his pacing and stood next to Elrohir at the end of the bed. "Not news, exactly," he amended. "We haven't had the time or resources to gather actual news. But we have come up with some theories."

"Theories?" repeated Thranduil, obviously not impressed. While he respected – even liked, on some level – Elrond's twin sons, he wasn't about to trust his son's well being to their theories.

"I'm afraid that theories are the best that you'll get," said Elrohir apologetically, looking at Legolas and Aragorn after sparing the elven king only the barest of glances. "This kind of thing really hasn't happened before. There's not going to be any definite answers out there."

"That's quite all right," assured Legolas, tossing his father a Look that he inherited from him. "Any answers, definite or not, will be most welcome. Do you" – he ran his hand over his stomach and beamed – "do you know how I was able to conceive?"

"I don't..." Elrohir hesitated before taking a deep breath and plunging forward: "When male elves stopped conceiving it was attributed to the coming of the shadow. And I still believe it was, but not in the way that everyone thought. I don't think that male elves ever lost the ability to bear children."

"What?" demanded Thranduil with a snort. "The health and lives of my child and grandchild are at stake and that is the best you can do?"

Aragorn couldn't stand it any longer. He bore Thranduil's attitude the best he could, but there was no reason why his brothers should have to as well. "My _brothers_," he spat out, "are doing us an enormous favor by devoting so much of their time to this when they could have passed it off to any healer. I won't tolerate anyone being so rude to them in my private quarters of all places!"

Like a snake getting ready to strike, Thranduil tensed and glared. "How dare" –

"He's right, Ada!" jumped in Legolas. He was pregnant – why was his husband and father putting him in this position now? "I love you and I know that you're just surprised and worried, but you're a guest here and the twins are members of my family too. If you can't be patient then you need to leave."

The incredibly hurt expression that crossed Thranduil's face almost drove Legolas to apologize but he caught himself just in time. "Please continue, Elrohir," he nodded as his father slumped back in his seat.

Elrohir shot him a barely perceptible smile. "There's nothing in the lore books here, nor in any of our lessons as far as we can remember, that said that male elves _couldn't_ bear children."

"That exact quotation was _'The birth of the firstborn decreased when the Dark Lord rose, diminishing entirely among male elves,'_" added Elladan.

"Male elves have always had more choice when it came to matters of conception," Elrohir continued, his cheeks flushed with excitement and his eyes bright. "It stands to reason, then, that when Sauron first rose they despaired and _would not_ conceive, not wanting to bear children into such darkness. And, of course, the fading times came after the Last Alliance. The hope of elves was no longer in Middle Earth but in Valinor; and the last time an elf – male or female – conceived on these shores after the first 100 years or so of the Third Age."

"But you, Legolas," broke in Elladan with a grin. "Your hope remains in Middle Earth, and the world of Men; your life and your future is here."

Legolas nodded slowly as he mulled this over. "Because of my love for Aragorn."

"Exactly," said Elladan, making his way over to Legolas' side and resting his hand on his belly. "And this child, you can say, is what that love brought into being."

Aragorn had to blink back his tears as he wrapped his arms around his husband. "And I thought that our love couldn't be any more amazing," he whispered, planting a kiss into the side of his head.

Legolas turned in the embrace and gave him a chaste kiss of the lips. "You've given me so much," he replied, his voice choked with emotion. "Now because of you I have something that was thought to be impossible."

Elladan cleared his throat. "We _are_ still in the room, you know," he teased in a singsong voice. "And there's still a few more things that we need to discuss. Not the least of which was I hear was brought up by our dear Master Peregrin yesterday after we left: just how the baby's going to actually exit your body."

"I haven't really thought about that yet," admitted Legolas, faltering a bit.

"And how exactly is that supposed to happen?" asked Aragorn cautiously, fearing that they were about to ask him to do something..._invasive_.

"We haven't quite figured that out yet," Elrohir told him. "There weren't many details in the lore books here and we can't exactly draw on personal experience. We were never around a pregnant male, at least not as far back as we can remember."

"I was."

Four sets of eyes turned to Thranduil, who was still stewing in his seat. "I lived in the time before Sauron's rise," he reminded them curtly. "The condition of pregnant males are not as mysterious to me as they are to almost everyone else left in Middle Earth."

"Do you recall anything specific about the male childbirth process?" asked Elladan.

"No," he replied stiffly. "I was not a healer. However, I do know that pregnancy is invariably a bigger strain on the male body. They require more care during that time."

"We need more information," Elrohir stressed to his twin. "But I'm afraid that we've exhausted the most useful resources here. The only thing left to do is go back to Rivendell."

"You can't!" protested Aragorn. He clutched Legolas closer, feeling the elf's grip tighten on his arm. "You two are the only healers in the city qualified to take care of Legolas. And you can't take him with you – look what happened last time!"

"Relax, Estel," ordered Elrohir with a wave of his hand. "Legolas isn't going to be leaving with us and he'll be fine here. You just need to get more rest, my friend; don't go traipsing all over Middle Earth or battling a mumakil or anything and you'll be just fine. That Ioreth woman has expressed a rather, um, _keen_ interest in learning all she can. We can sufficiently prepare her to take care of your basic health needs before we depart. And just to be on the safe side" – he shot Aragorn an apologetic look –"it might be wise for King Thranduil to remain close-at-hand as well."

"That sounds like a good idea," agreed Legolas, still shaky after thinking about all the ways the baby could come out of his body.  Thranduil sat up a little straighter.  "We can have a room prepared for you immediately, Ada."

Aragorn couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Excuse me?" he blurted out before he could fully consider the consequences.

"I just told my father," answered Legolas testily, giving Aragorn a look that reminded him plainly that he was his father's child, "that he can stay with us. I really need him to be around right now, when I don't always feel my best and have a little trouble controlling my emotions; is that fine with you?"

"Now, now, my Little Greenleaf," soothed Thranduil, barely disguising his amusement. "I do not want to stay where I am not welcome."

"You're welcome. He's welcome, right Aragorn?"

The hand on his arm squeezed painfully. "Yes," Aragorn squeaked out. Funny, knowing the source of Legolas' mood swings didn't make them any less scary.

"Smart call," observed Elladan wryly.

Aragorn gave him a long-suffering look. "When will you two have to leave?"

"We'll be able to stay until after the reception."

The reception! The meeting of leaders from all over Middle Earth was going to begin with a welcoming reception tonight. The dignitaries were probably arriving even as they spoke. "I completely forgot about that," Aragorn groaned.

"Well, thankfully all you have to do as king is show up and make small talk," Elladan told him. "Although I would suggest that it will also be the ideal opportunity to announce the good news."

"Is that really a good idea?" frowned Legolas. "The people of Gondor may be prepared for the news, but the dignitaries..."

The twins exchanged a knowing glance. "You have to do it soon," advised Elrohir. "After all, you're pretty far along. Five or six months, I would say."

"Five or six months?" How much more could Aragorn handle? "But he's –"

"He was always a little too thin," stated Elladan. "And he's been active. Any weight that he's gained is mostly the baby. From the strength of their connection we can safely assume that Legolas is entering the final few months of pregnancy."

Thranduil jumped up. "Come now," he told the twins. "Let's leave them to prepare for the day. You two need to pack and I need to send for my things."

Aragorn flopped back on the bed as soon as the door closed. "We should just hide in here until tomorrow morning," he suggested.

Pushing the covers away roughly, Legolas stormed out of bed. "What was that all about?" he demanded. "Why were you so rude about my father coming to stay with us?"

"I was a little surprised," shot back Aragorn defensively. "What were you doing inviting him to stay here without even asking me?"

"You didn't ask me before you told the twins that they could stay here," Legolas reminded him fiercely. "Or do I have to ask your permission in all matters that concerns this living space? I'm sorry; I was under the impression that it was ours."

Aragorn gritted his teeth. "You know that's not true!" he snapped. "But the twins are family – you said so yourself."

"Ada is family too," argued Legolas.

"But you can't want him to stay here for the next three or four months."

"I happen to like my father," was Legolas' testy response. "And since I have to remain rested, it would be nice to have someone here who's only concern is taking care of me and keeping me company. You can't exactly neglect your role as king until the baby comes."

"He doesn't even like me," protested Aragorn. "Why do I have to live with someone who doesn't like me?"

"That's not entirely true. And anyway, you don't like him either. You've never even _tried_ to like him!"

"How can you say that?" asked Aragorn, flabbergasted. "I've been bending over backwards to please him for years!"

"To make him like you," said Legolas shortly. "But have you ever tried to get to know him? To find out why he is like he is? No, all you've been doing is trying to say and do what you think he wants and resenting it. And all he sees is you acting phony around him. My father values honestly above all else, Aragorn. It puts him off to see you behave in such a manner."

Before Aragorn could respond, Legolas clapped his hand over his mouth and dropped to his knees. "I need –"he choked out.

Aragorn grabbed a bowl off of a table within arm's reach of the bed and sprang up, giving it to his husband just in time for his bout of morning sickness. "Let's not do this," he said, holding back Legolas' hair. "I don't want to fight with you."

"I know," Legolas half-sobbed, still trying to get his body under control. "I hate fighting with you."

Feeling pangs of remorse at the sight of the elf feeling so miserable, Aragorn sighed. "When your father comes back, I'll apologize."

"Thank you," said Legolas emphatically. "And I'll tell him to be nicer to you. But you have to at least try to meet him halfway."

"All right," replied Aragorn calmly, helping him off his knees. "But at the moment you should probably get a little rest. Maybe you shouldn't come to the reception tonight, either. I don't want you to over-exert yourself."

"I'm fine," Legolas told him. "Morning sickness is nothing new to me or any other pregnant being. I've been through Moria, Helm's Deep, a haunted mountain, a battle on the fields of the Pelennor, and fought before the gates of Mordor. How much harder can pregnancy possibly be?

To be continued...

_A/N: Because I want it to be, elven pregnancy in this story is going to last 9 months, just like a mortal's. I'm not sure how many months a pregnant person has morning sickness in the real world, but this isn't the real world so it'll probably last for a while. But Legolas' weight gain is possible: when my sister was pregnant she only gained about 10 pounds because she actively exercised both before and during those months. Until the last 2 months or so, no one could even tell it unless she wore something that was body-hugging._


	10. Even good news comes with complications

All eyes were on the royal couple as Aragorn and Legolas entered the banquet hall. It seemed like everyone was trying to penetrate the elf's skin and actually _see_ into his stomach. Legolas allowed a small, closed-lip secretive smile to curl his lips. He'd deliberately worn a tunic that was a bit snug and that little bump was just showing enough to cause whispers, both of excitement and of hesitant disbelief.

"You look beautiful tonight," Aragorn whispered to him. "Well, you always look beautiful but tonight...tonight you're luminescent."

"I like that word," purred Legolas playfully, breaking his own rules of decorum by looping his arm through that of his husband's. He'd always refused to do that in public, his pride stopping him from letting Aragorn lead him around like the nobles did with their spouses. While Aragorn was the king and he claimed no official rule over Gondor, Legolas just couldn't stand being viewed as the weaker half of their relationship. He needed to enter court functions in no other manner than standing on his own two feet. But tonight was a special occasion.

"Welcome, my king and prince," said Faramir formally, rising to his feet as they came to their places at the head table. "I must apologize for Eowyn not being here to greet you as well, but her brother has been has been occupying her attention all evening."

Legolas scanned the room. "Eomer is here?" he asked. "Where? And when did he arrive?"

"He's right over there," Faramir replied, pointing to a table not too far off where Rohan's king sat surrounded by Eowyn, Gimli, and the hobbits. "His party arrived this afternoon; we tried to let you know, but the guard outside your room said –"

"Something about dire circumstances?" supplied Aragorn, feeling slightly embarrassed. It wasn't proper for the king of Gondor to allow such a distinguished guest to go unacknowledged for so long; but more importantly, Eomer was a good friend. He'd really been looking forward to his visit.

"That guard is very diligent," commented Legolas diplomatically.

"He's like a toddler that's just learned a new word," scoffed Aragorn. "It could be interpreted as an insult that we weren't there to formally greet the King of Rohan and his company."

"Don't worry," Faramir assured him. "He knew within five minutes of his arrival that Legolas was in the Houses of Healing yesterday so he understands why you might be a little preoccupied. Besides, he's been more thankept busywith spoiling my daughter, catching up with my wife, and visiting with Merry. Eomer and Eowyn seem very determined to teach that poor hobbit until he's fluent in the Rohirric language."

"Well, it's to be expected if Merry wishes to be a proper rider of Rohan," chided Legolas with amusement. "Still, I'll rectify our inadvertent rudeness right now and go say hello. Are you coming, Aragorn?"

Aragorn hesitated for a split second. "In a moment, my love," he promised. With a nod and a smile the elf hurried off.

Faramir and Aragorn watched as Sam, Merry, and Pippin all jumped to their feet, falling all over themselves to offer Legolas a seat. Once he'd taken his place at the table, Pippin actually took a roll of bread off of his own plate and gave it to him. "Now that's real friendship," observed Faramir fondly.

"Mithrandir was right about hobbits," added Aragorn. "They can still surprise you even after all these years." He bit his lower lip. "Faramir? May I ask you a question?"

Faramir started, but then nodded. "Of course, Aragorn," he replied, dropping the courtly formalities in his surprise. Judging by the tone of his voice, the king needed a friend and not a steward.

"You and Eomer...you two didn't get along at first, correct?"

"I wouldn't put it quite that way," Faramir frowned, racking his brain for the right way to explain it. "It was more that he was very _protective_ of his sister, especially at that time. After all, she'd just gone through so much with Wormtongue's intentions, King Theoden's death, her injuries after the battle with the Witch-king, and her feelings..."

His voice trailed off as he and Aragorn exchanged an awkward glance before simultaneously looking at the floor. Faramir was very aware that Eowyn once had romantic feelings for Aragorn – she'd told him herself before they'd fallen in love. While he knew he had nothing to be jealous of on either of their parts, it was still a slightly uncomfortable topic. "Was that the only problem?" questioned Aragorn,wanting to move them past this just as much as he wanted to know the answer.

"No," continued Faramir. "It was also do to the fact that he didn't know much about me. Until you three came to Rohan with the news about – Boromir" – his voice hitched a little – "all I was to him was the lesser son of the steward. He just wanted to make sure that I was worthy of her before he gave us his blessing."

"How did you convince him that you were?"

"I didn't," he responded wryly. "No one is good enough for Eowyn as far as Eomer is concerned, but he realized that his expectationswere a little too – _impossible_ – and decided to settle for what makes her happy. I would think that you of all people would understand that."

Fantastic; now he had to deal with the fact that he was a disappointment to Legolas' father. "But he does like you," stammered Aragorn, allowing his frustrations to vent through a little. "What did you do to make him accept you?"

"I didn't do anything special," Faramir insisted. "I was polite and friendly to him, loving and respectful to his sister, and let him make up his own mind. I didn't" – he hesitated, his court formalities finally catching up with him –"Are we still talking as friends?"

"Of course."

Faramir took a deep breath and plunged forward. "I didn't, ah, make an idiot of myself by trying to force it."

Aragorn let out a weary sigh. "I suppose that it's obvious, then?" he asked rhetorically, heat creeping into his cheeks.

"Not to everyone," comforted the steward hurriedly. "I just have had a better view of it, with King Thranduil living in Ithilien and all."

"Well, he won't be living there for awhile," Aragorn groaned. "The twins have to go back to Rivendell to get more information about male pregnancy, so he's going to be moving _into the citadel_. That's why he's not here right now; he's supervising the move of all of his things. Now the people of Minas Tirith can see me make an idiot of myself. Ai, Valar! What if he decides not to leave after the baby's born?"

"I'm sure that won't happen –"

"And I won't be able to tell him to leave!" Aragorn continued to ramble on. It was a relief to be able to get all of this out to someone who could understand where he was coming from. "Legolas and I had a fight this morning because he needs his father and he thinks I'm the one who's being difficult. What if he still needs his father after our child comes? I'll be stuck living with someone who barely tolerates my existence; who will be in the prime position to teach my son what an uncouth moron I am."

Choking back his laughter at the poor Man's irrational panic, Faramir sputtered, "I'm – I'm sorry."

"Hey," a gruff voice interjected. Faramir and Aragorn looked down to see Gimli. "Your wife's wondering what's keeping you," he informed the steward.

"Thank you," said Faramir politely before turning to the king again. "Don't be too concerned, Aragorn; things will work out."

The Man and the dwarf stared uncomfortably at each other after he left, both keenly remembering their last conversation in the Houses of Healing. "I hear Thranduil's going to be staying with you two," Gimli finally said.

"You did?"

"He told me this afternoon, when I asked him why he wasn't getting ready for the reception."

"Oh." When had this happened?! When did Gimli become Thranduil's friend and not his? Even during the War of the Ring when the dwarf became so protective of Legolas, he and Aragorn were still close.

Gimli, not really aware of Aragorn's internal questions, went on: "That's...that's going to be a bit cramped, huh?" He _had_ to say it before he lost his nerve. "Well-he-can-visit-me-a-lot-so-you-two-can-have-some-time-alone-and-I'm-sorry-for-what-I-said-earlier."

Despite himself, Aragorn managed a good-natured smirk. "That hurt, didn't it?"

Gimli looked pained. "You have no idea."

"Well, I accept," he told him, feeling a bit foolish. Perhaps Legolas was right; if he was seeing himself and Thranduil as such opposing forces that he didn't think Gimli could be friends with the both of them, something was definitely wrong. "And for what it's worth, I'm glad Legolas has you looking out for him."

"Oh – oh, why not?" Gimli lunged forward and hugged Aragorn in that room full of nobles and foreign dignitaries.

Aragorn let out a laugh. "Come on, you sentimental dwarf; let's go see Eomer." He glanced over and saw the Rohirrim's eyes widen almost impossibly and reach out as if mesmerized to Legolas' stomach. "It looks like it'll take both of us to keep his hands off of my husband."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

The feast was winding down when Aragorn leaned over and whispered into Legolas' ear: "Are you ready, meleth?"

"I've been ready for this for a long time," smiled Legolas as he nodded his assent.

Aragorn returned the smile and discretely squeezed his hand before inclining his head ever so slightly to Faramir. At that signal, the steward rose to his feet. "Nobles of Gondor and distinguished guests," he called out. "The King Elessar and Prince Legolas request that all accompany them to the courtyard."

The crowd obligingly stood and followed as the royal couple got up and made their way out of the hall and through the corridors that led outside. The guards immediately opened the doors and shouted to the crowd of commoners outside: "Make way for the king and the prince!"

"People of the city," announced Aragorn. "Please come with us to the courtyard, as our business there concerns you as well."" He turned and shot a pointed glance at the guards. "And you _will_ allow them to follow."

Legolas could hear the buzz of murmurs as he and Aragorn stood before the White Tree and faced the crowd. Hemarveled at times abouthow much he'd come to love the people of Gondor, but now wasn't one of them. It was because he'd placed him hopes with their world that he was able to conceive and now they were about to share his joy. He felt his son stir within him and know that the child approved.

Aragorn and Legolas shared a loving look. "My husband and I have tremendous news that will affect the future of Gondor," the Man told them. The people's whispers got even louder and more than a few eyes were now blatantly staring at Legolas' waistline.

"The male elves of old had a unique and extraordinary gift," he continued, his elation rising as the people looked on expectantly. "This gift was thought to be gone forever after the darkness of Sauron, but in this time of hope, peace, and renewal it has been restored to the Prince Legolas."

"And what gift do you speak of, my lord?" asked Cirion uneasily. Surely those ridiculous rumors weren't true!

"The most precious gift of all," Legolas told him serenely, all the while dancing a jig on the inside as he imagined the look that would be on the obnoxious Man's face when he found out. Aragorn raised his eyebrows at him, but gestured for him to continue. "For it is the gift of life. Yesterday, my husband and I found out that I am bearing Gondor's heir. He will be born in three or four month's time."

Silence, absolute silence, filled the air for a split second before most of the people erupted in cheers. Legolas let out the breath that he didn't know he was holding. "Thank you," he sighed, not really knowing who that sentiment was for.

The advisors were at their sides in an instant. "Congratulations," said one named Belecthor, and he meant it. More than one advisor was actually decent Men and pleased to see their social-climbing peers lose their last hopes at getting into the king's family by any means possible.

"Yes," sniffed Cirion insincerely, not at all happy that his last chance at worming his daughter into the king's bed was gone. Maybe this could be salvaged. "Of course we must hold a meeting tomorrow to discuss the implications of this. I trust that your _wife_ can spare you?"

The temperature dropped to frosty levels. "Husband," hissed Aragorn warningly.

"Of course," replied Cirion, sounding unconvinced. "My mistake."

Aragorn made a threatening move forward but Legolas caught him before he did anything rash. "I won't need to spare him," he said curtly. "I'm coming too."

Cirion could work with this. "It would be highly unusual for the king's – spouse – to attend an advisors' council," he stated, his words properbutvoice oozing contempt. Unfortunately, he was correct about that; although Aragorn sometimes extended an invitation for Legolas to come – especially when the meetings may concern him – it was a simple fact that no ruler of Gondor's spouse had ever attended. "Unless, of course, you believe this child gives you more power over the people of this realm."

"I believe nothing of the sort," Legolas shot back. "But it's my son that will be the topic of conversation, and I will be at any and all discussions that concern him. And I'll do more than just be there; of that you can be sure."

To be continued...

_A/N: Wow! I've gotten 200 reviews for this story! Thank you all so much._


	11. The night before reality

_A/N: This is a few days later than normal, but I did try to be on time! I was planning on uploading what I had last Wednesday before leaving for my parents' house for the weekend (I can only save onto my computer since my floppy drive is broken and my dark-ages computer doesn't know how to save onto a CD) but wasn't allowing any uploads at the time. Better late than never..._

As if being pregnant wasn't wonderful enough, it came with an unexpected bonus: Legolas found that he could excuse himself from the last of the evening's obligations without inciting too many negative comments. In fact the decision had been met with a lot of approving nods and smiles while Aragorn gently kissed his cheek and urged him to rest. He still felt a little twinge of guilt at abandoning his husband to the remnants of the crowd of dignitaries and nobles. Oh, well; he would undoubtedly be annoyed by the Man's insistence that he needs to rest all too soon so he might as well enjoy it now. Legolas shrugged away that guilt as he shed his formal clothing.

It felt so good to be able to slip into his robe! The snugness of his tunic had begun chafing his skin about halfway through the reception. _'Does pregnancy make your skin extra-sensitive?'_ he wondered. Legolas supposed he could ask the twins before they left, or Eowyn, or even Rose Gamgee. At the moment, however, all he wanted to do was take care of that annoying itch. He left the green robe untied as he grabbed a vial of soothing oil and laid back on the bed to apply it.

When a weary Aragorn entered the chambers a few minutes later he was greeted with the sight of the elf caressing his chest with oil-covered fingers. His robe was completely open and hanging off his shoulders, the green silk fabric spread out around him. "What are you doing?" he questioned in a husky voice, hoping that he wasn't salivating in an obvious manner.

The sound of Aragorn's voice combined with the stimulation of his own fingers was enough to drive Legolas mad with lust. In fact he marveled that he was able to make it through the evening without doing anything inappropriate. This seemed to be yet another side effect of pregnancy. "My skin itched," he explained with false innocence as he slowed the movements to a feather-light tease. Aragorn's eyes locked on the fingertip that circled one of his nipples. "It seems that my skin is extra-sensitive. The slightest touch causes strong reactions."

"Is that so?" murmured Aragorn as he crossed over to the bed and sat facing his husband. "And what touch inspired you to spread oil all over your chest?"

"Not _inspired_ as much as _drove_," Legolas purred, arching into his own touch. He hoped Aragorn would make his move soon or else he'd have to take matters into his own hands. "It was the rough fabric of that tunic. It irritated my skin to the point where I just had to rip it off."

Aragorn picked up the vial that Legolas had laid beside him and pulled out the cork. "Then it's a good thing that you left early," he replied smoothly, coating his fingers with oil. "However, I seem to recall that the tunic in question is made from the finest elven silks in all the lands. Perhaps something else was making you want to shed your clothing in such a hasty way?"

"I can't imagine what else could make me want to do something so undignified," Legolas protested coyly as he stared at the Man's fingers and silently begged him to touch him. "I think that pregnancy is causing my senses to be especially heightened. Now only a special touch can make me feel good."

"Really?" Aragorn practically moaned. "Like this?"

Legolas gasped and grabbed his husband's wrist as if afraid that he'd suddenly stop. "Oh Aragorn," he cried. He was stunned by his own neediness but it felt like Aragorn was touching every one of his nerve endings with that one touch. If just simple caresses drove him wild, what would the actual intercourse be like? Legolas sent a silent thank you to Eru for making pregnancy feel so good.

Aragorn leaned forward and kissed the sensitive tip of the elf's ear while still seductively stroking his chest. "Does this soothe your itch?" he breathed in his ear, deliberately using more air than necessary just so he could feel the little shudders in his husband's body that such an action caused. He could definitely get used to Legolas being so responsive in bed.

"Aaaahhhoooo," moaned Legolas appreciatively. "You have cured one itch but I'm afraid you've just caused another."

"Well then," grinned Aragorn. "I guess I must attend to that one too."

He made a move to climb on top of Legolas but froze right before he descended. "What's wrong?" the prince demanded, his voice tight as he stared up in confusion at his oddly hovering husband.

"It might not be a good idea to lie right down on you," answered Aragorn anxiously, his eyes darting to the slight swell of the elf's stomach. "The pressure of my weight might not be good for the baby."

"But you've already laid down on top of me while I'm pregnant!" argued Legolas. "And the twins didn't say anything about it. You're the healer, Aragorn; is the baby really going to be in danger?"

To this Aragorn had no ready answer. During the years when he was learning the art of healing Elrond had taught him many things, including that one could still lie on top of a pregnant person without harming the child. He wanted desperately to be rational about this, but one look at that bulge made drove all reason out of his mind. "Maybe not technically," he admitted. "But still, should we take the chance?"

Legolas sighed. "All right," he grumbled, relaxing his body as if in resignation. Then, before Aragorn could move away, he sprang up and flipped the Man on his back. "I don't mind doing all the work," he declared.

Before Aragorn knew what was happening Legolas was straddling him and undoing the clasp of his shirt. "But the baby…"

"Should be fine," Legolas finished the sentence for him. "I asked the twins at the reception while you were so occupied with Prince Imrahil and the other delegates from Dol Amroth. It's safe for females to have sex throughout pregnancy as long as no complications arise from it. They don't see why that rule should not also apply to males and quite frankly I agree wholeheartedly. Especially right now."

That was more than good enough for Aragorn in his current state. "And why didn't you tell me this sooner?" he teased. "Or else asked them such an imperative question this morning?"

Legolas bent down and kissed him soundly before dragging his mouth down to so he could taste his skin. "As for question number one," he spoke with his lips pressed against the underside of Aragorn's jaw. "I couldn't very well interrupt the prince to announce that our sex life can continue to be active to the point of excess."

"True."

"And as for question number two," he continued, pausing to kiss him again while rubbing their groins together. "There are some questions that I will _never_ be able to ask in front of my father and that's definitely one of them." His eyes widened and he pulled away from the embrace, even though he stayed on top of him. "Ai Elbereth, I forgot!" Where is Ada now? Tell me he's not in the room next door."

Aragorn pulled him back down. "I would never have the servants make up the room next door for your father," he assured him. "And even if that weren't the case it doesn't matter tonight. Your father is at Gimli's."

"Are you jesting?"

"No," he laughed, running his thumb across Legolas' lips. "Gimli offered to let him stay there tonight, seeing that he couldn't very well move his things into the citadel while the reception was going on. I have no doubt in my mind that he'll be ready to move in tomorrow morning, but for tonight…"

He let his words trail off as he pushed the green robe off of Legolas' body and threw it aside. Busy hands worked quickly to pull of his shirt and then went for his trousers. "Do you know what I think?" asked Legolas, sounding deceptively casual even as he slid his hand inside the pants and explored Aragorn's arousal with his touch. "I think that pregnancy is making me all the eager."

"I've observed that," Aragorn gasped out.

"And it's not just that the slightest touch makes my skin tingle most enjoyably, although that's certainlynot somethingto dismiss. Just think about it, Aragorn," he added, applying more pressure and making his husband's head roll back as he moaned. "Every time you touch me I feel likeyou're feeling nowand all I know is that I want more of it."

"By the Valar!"

"I've been noticing that my sense of smell is enhanced as well," the elf continued. "Do you know how hard it is to control myself when your scent is driving me to distraction? How is it that one Man can smell so desirable?"

Aragorn's only response was to use what little control he had left over his movements to awkwardly slide down his pants and kick them off his ankles. "And the dreams!" moaned Legolas, pliant as the king repositioned him and started to prepare him with his oil-slicked fingers. "I've been having the most enticing fantasies. They come – oh! – day and – ai! – night, sleeping or, or – yes, Valar, oh yes! – awake, and th-they all – uh! – feature you."

"What are we doing in these dreams?" wondered Aragorn. His chest puffed a little as he felt oddly proud that his touch was undoing Legolas in such an extreme way.

"Any, anything and everything," Legolas' voice was a near-cry as Aragorn continued to tease him. "In the – mmmmm! – gardens, in the throne room, on – yes! – the throne, the weapon's – don't stop! – repository, the library, your – your office, and various – please, again! – closets and, and pantries all around the citadel."

"That sound like a lot of ground to cover in a few months," chuckled Aragorn as he withdrew his fingers.

Legolas gave him a sultry, lustful look as he stood on his knees while straddling him. Aragorn decided that he should give himself a medal for not peaking then and there. "Who said anything about only doingthose things while I'm pregnant?" asked the elf; and he lowered himself onto the Man, letting out a half-cry-half-moan as he took him in.

The foreplay – especially the exciting images that Legolas put in both of their heads – and the fact that they hadn't had time in the morning for the customary make-up sex after an argument made the first round fast and intense. Caught up in their desire it was unnecessary to use words to request more – once the first climax passed they immediately started on the second, third, fourth, and so on. Fortunately for Aragorn, even without the affects of pregnancy Legolas' stamina was incredible and his appetite vast. Fortunately for Legolas, Aragorn was a strong Man of Numenorian and elven descent and was more than up for the task of satisfying his many needs.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

"The twins are leaving tomorrow," reported Aragorn much later as he traced circles on his husband's back.

Legolas gazed lazily at him. "So soon?"

"They want to make this trip go by as quickly as possible so that they'll be back in time for the birth," Aragorn explained. "But they want to give you one last examination before they depart. We're to meet them in the Houses of Healing tomorrow morning."

"Mm-umh."

"That might make us a little late for the advisors' meeting," he continued with a petty smirk. "They can just deal with waiting for us."

"Mmm."

"I'm glad you're going to be there tomorrow," Aragorn told him as he settled back against the pillows. "That will show them and everyone else that we'll be equal partner in raising our son. This child is going to have a wonderful, fulfilling childhood and not just be raised to take on the role of heir to the throne. I wouldn't want it any other way, Legolas. Legolas?"

There was no answer. Aragorn rolled over to see his husband's eyes glazed over in sleep. "Yet another side effect of pregnancy," he whispered fondly. He planted a kiss on his cheek and making himself comfortable so that he could have some dreams of his own.

To be continued…

_A/N: There's something screwy about the editing page on and it's raising my ire. I run spell check and scour the page before I post to minimize the number of mistakes and still somehow words that I **know** weren't smushed together end up together in the final product. It's rather annoying._

_The semester is coming to an end but some papers have to be written and finals completed before I'm free for the break. I'm so looking forward to it – there are some plot bunnies hopping around in my head for some one-shots, including a complementary piece for the first part of What is Meant to Be. In the meantime, however, my current ongoing stories are just about the only fun part of my life. I think we all really, really need a vacation. _:)


	12. The unexpected delegation

_A/N: I forgot to ask if anyone knew a place where I could find dwarvish translations and my own (time-limited) searches came up with nothing, so the dwarvish in this chapter is just going to be implied via italicized words. If anyone can point me towards something like an English-to-Dwarvish online dictionary, I'd be grateful!_

A commotion woke Legolas up out of a sound sleep early the next morning. He sat up straight in the bed and focused his hearing, hoping to find out what could be going on. It sounded like yelling – frantic and angry, coming from outside but somewhere close by – as well as confused voices and frenzied footsteps that were hurrying towards the bedchamber door. This couldn't be a good thing. "Aragorn?" he nudged his slumbering husband.

"What?" mumbled Aragorn in a tone that was halfway between a groan and a whine. They'd been up rather late into the evening and the last thing he wanted at the moment was to be roused before he absolutely had to be.

Legolas, however, wasn't going to let him just drift back off. "Wake up!" he urged. "There's something going on, both inside the citadel and right outside of it. The air is thick with anger and panic – I can feel it."

"What kind of –" Aragorn began before being interrupted by the sound of the door crashing open. Keenly aware that he and Legolas had forgone putting on their sleeping clothing before they retired, he hastily pulled the covers up around them while simultaneously glaring at the intruding guard. "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded with as much dignity as a half-awakenaked man could manage. "How dare you just barge in here like this?"

"I'm – so sorry, my king!" panted the guard, sounding positively terrified. "But – outside –dire circumstances – very – very – dire circumstances!"

That would explain the confusion, panic, and footsteps. "I can hear some kind of furious debate going on outside in the courtyard," Legolas stated. "Is that the source of the dire circumstances?"

"Yes – yes, my prince," the poor guard nodded vigorously. "We couldn't prepare for it! No one knew that they were coming!"

"Knew that who was coming?" questioned Aragorn. This was absurd. He was exhausted and facing a long day; he certainly wasn't in the mood to play riddle-type games right now.

"Of course invitations went out to all the lands for this gathering," babbled the guard, still not thinking clearly enough to notice that the king was getting more and more impatient, "but they said they couldn't send anyone! How were we supposed to know that they would change their minds?"

Legolas noticed Aragorn's hands tightening their grip around the blankets. He quickly covered them with his own, sensing that if he didn't the next thing his husband would be squeezing was the guard's neck. "So, at least one of the visiting delegates is involved in this squabble?" he encouraged the young Man to continue.

"Yes," affirmed the guard. "We had no warning; they just showed up at sunrise and went straight to see the Lord Gimli."

"Gimli has something to do with this?" asked the elf. No wonder people in the corridors were confused after encountering this rambling guard.

"No," he shook his head. "Wait – yes. Well –"

"Choose one," Aragorn ordered shortly.

The guard's eyes darted frantically around the room as if he were searching for the correct answer. "Both," he finally declared. "He's involved in all the shouting, but even he didn't know that a delegation from the Lonely Mountain was coming."

A delegation from the Lonely Mountain was in the city? Aragorn's heart sank. "And did this delegation consist of any of the members of Thorin Oakenshield's company?" he asked in a tight voice.

"Gloin, son of Groín and father of Gimli, led them himself. That's why they insisted on visiting him Lord Gimli before being announced before the throne."

Legolas had alreadyjumped out of bed, grabbed his green robe off of the floor, slipped it on, and was sprinting to the closet before the young Man finished speaking. "My father's at Gimli's house!" he cried, oblivious to everything else but his task of finding Aragorn's robe – including the bug-eyed and slack-jawed guard who got an eyeful and was now gawking at his now-covered body.

"I don't think Gloin knew aboutwhat good friends Gimli and Ada have become," Legolas continued to fret as he found the red garment and threw it on top of Aragorn. "This isn't good! It's not likely that he's forgiven and forgotten about that unfortunate matter with the dungeons and all." He shot a withering look at the still stunned guard. "There are more important things to focus on right now than the fact that you saw me naked!"

Aragorn might have laughed at the situation if he had the time and energy. The guard had no way of knowing that elves have a rather unconcerned attitude about nudity – or that the king was used to it. He probably figured that he was about to be beheaded. "He's right," said Aragorn, having enough pity for the Man's flustered state to put his own robe on under the covers. "You really need to stop staring at my husband."

The guard started, snapping his head around so quickly that the royal couple was surprised they didn't hear his neck snap. "I'm so sorry!" he cried. "I would never – on purpose – I didn't mean to!"

"We know that," Legolas told him. "But if you're truly sorry, you'll do two things: number one, never speak of it again. Number two, quickly gather a contingent of guards and lead them to the area around the courtyard. Don't let my father or the dwarves see them; just make sure they'll be ready to intervene in case the circumstances get _exceedingly_ dire."

Bowing low, the guard tore out of the room. "Hurry!" the elf shouted at Aragorn, barely waiting for him before taking off himself.

It wasn't difficult for them to find Gimli, Gloin, and Thranduil; in fact, they were yelling at each other right there in front of the White Tree. Thank Elbereth that it was still too early for their confrontation to draw a crowd! "Of all the disloyal, dishonorable things you could do!" Gloin was raging. "How could you befriend this –"

"Father!"

"Not only befriend him, but also invite him into your home!" the old dwarf continued, ignoring his son's admonishment. "Have you forgotten that I spent a month locked up in some dank dungeon when I was _invited _into his home?"

"Cellar," corrected Thranduil. "It was a cellar, not a dungeon." He'd always disliked when people used the word "dungeon" to describe that part of his old cavern palace. After all, he'd kept his prized wine collection down there. "And you brought that on yourself."

Gimli's face blanched. "Thranduil –"

"You're on a first-name basis with him?" Gloin asked his son incredulously. "Why don't you just spit in my face and be done with it?"

Thranduil ignored both of them. "If you would have been honest and just _told_ me what your business in Mirkwood was I would have let you pass," he growled furiously. "No reasonable ruler, be they elf or Man, would have permitted unrestrained movement through their realm during a time when the shadow was strengthening. Especially not when it was obvious that you were hiding something! Honestly, your exaggerated sense of entitlement still astonishes me."

Smoke was practically coming out of Gloin's. "May the tips of your ears fall off!"

"May you lose each and every strand of hair from your beard and remain smooth-chinned for the rest of your life!"

Gloin's eyes narrowed. "You tree-skipping, unjust, brainless whoreson!"

"Excuse me?!" protested Aragorn before he could think about it.

The dwarf whipped his head around to glare at the newcomers. "Who are you?" he demanded, taking in their just-out-of-bed hair and robe-clad bodies.

"I am King Elessar and this is my husband, Prince Legolas," replied Aragorn curtly.

"You don't look like a king."

"I don't wear my crown to bed."

Gimli nudged his father hard. "Don't insult them!" he snapped harshly.

Casting a long and wary look at Legolas, Gloin bowed. "At your service," he said with stiff formality.

"_At yours and your family's,"_ replied Legolas inhalting but soliddwarvish.

Gloin hadencountered dragons, traveled down a river while stuffed inside an apple barrel, and journeyed with a hobbit burglar who could make himself invisible, but nothing compared to hearing his own language coming from the mouth of an elf. "You speak dwarvish?"

"A little," Legolas told him. "Gimli taught me a few words."

Torn between begrudging respect and indignant outrage, Gloin chose the more familiar emotion. "Teaching our language to an elf!" he exploded at his son, whose nostrils flared at the implied insult aimed at the prince. "This is that Elvenking's son, is it not? By Aüle, why don't you just teach him to secret ways to our treasure hoards while you're at it?"

"That is enough!" ordered Aragorn authoritatively, cutting off Thranduil's and Gimli's furious responses. "I am well aware that there are many traditional and personal reasons that keep you from liking each other and I will not presume to demand that all be forgiven. However, this is my husband and that is my father-in-law; I will not tolerate anyone impugning their integrity or making vulgar remarks about their lineage in my realm, let alone my presence."

"Legolas greeted you according to our customs and in our tongue and yet you treat him so dishonorably," Gimli muttered. "I'm ashamed of you, Father."

Thranduil didn't say anything; he was too busy looking at Aragorn with something akin to surprise and respect in his eyes. The surprise didn't come from the respect, though – he had always known that Aragorn was a fine king. Perhaps it was from having an insult to him being associated to an insult to the Man. _'Perhaps from feeling like Aragorn regards him as his family,'_ thought Legolas hopefully. This could be the first step towards the two actually liking each other! He was elated.

Apparently the baby shared his ada's joy because at that moment the elf felt a wonderful little flutter. "Aragorn," he choked out. By the Valar, he'd never before felt so torn between joy and nausea! "I think he just _kicked_." Then he bent over and vomited.

Aragorn, Thranduil, and Gimli were gathered all around him in a second. "It will be all right, Little Greenleaf," soothed his father.

"This will pass soon," added Aragorn as he stroked Legolas' hair.

A dumbfounded Gloin just stared at them. Elves seemed so maddeningly perfect; he never thought that they actually had _bodily functions_. "What's wrong with him?" he asked, fascinated.

"Morning sickness," responded Gimli briskly.

"_Morning sickness?!"_

"Male elves can get pregnant," Gimli explained impatiently. "Now let him be so he can get through this in peace."

Legolas groaned. "If it's all the same to everyone else, I'd rather not continue to vomit in the streets," he said dryly. Elbereth, he could imagine what people would say if they saw him like this – sick and in naught but his robe.

"That can be arranged," Aragorn told him gently. He tossed a glower at the other three. "My husband and I have many things to do today that don't involve minding all of you. I ask that everyone here behave in a manner befitting the dignity of your races and realms; at the very least, I expect that neither elf or dwarf blood will be spilled when we leave you unsupervised."

Without bothering to wait for a reply, the King of Gondor put a supportive arm around Legolas' waist and together they returned to the citadel.

To be continued…

_A/N: I hope this chapter's coherent. I've been typing papers for the last week, so nothing's a guarantee. It's been read and re-read, but I can't vouch for my mental capacity at the moment..._

_By this time next week, all I'll have to do is one take-home exam and a presentation! YAY! Vacation time is coming!_


	13. Humiliation in the Houses

If there was one thing that Legolas was used to, it was being stared at. He'd spent a good part of his life sitting in the court of Mirkwood while a seemingly endless parade of troubadours milled through to see if the rumors of his beauty were true. That, unpleasant and obnoxious as it had been, was good practice for his life in Gondor where he was both one of the few elves any of these Men had ever seen and married to the king. A lifetime of being gawked at left him well prepared to handle himself under great scrutiny during his less-than-stellar moments. However, never before had he been sitting on a bed in the Houses of Healing wrapped in a blanket to conceal the fact that the lower half of his body was completely naked.

He knew that he shouldn't feel so uncomfortable in this situation. After all, hadn't he just that morning flown out of bed completely nude in the presence of a guard? Elves in general weren't shy about their bodies and he was no exception. But this was different; now he was the only one in a semi-nude state in a room with Aragorn, Elladan, Elrohir, Ioreth, and a long-winded, pretentious healer who'd insisted on being present during his examination. The reason _why_ he was in such a state of undress made him feel all the more vulnerable. Legolas groaned inwardly; he never thought about this aspect of pregnancy before.

"Legolas," said Elrohir with as much patience as he could muster. He could understand the prince's reluctance, but this was getting ridiculous! If Legolas delayed the examination any longer he and his brother wouldn't be able to set out at all that day, which would waste precious time that frankly no one in that room could afford to lose. "We need you to lie back and loosen up that blanket a little."

"I don't see why I should have to," Legolas insisted stubbornly, although that wasn't entirely true. It was more like he didn't _want_ to have to. "Or why so many people have to be here when I do it."

Elrohir didn't bother to conceal his frustrated sigh. He should have known that something like this would happen. Legolas inherited a healthy dose of his father's stubbornness and honed it well while growing up under the threat of the shadow and the unwanted attentions of others. To make matters worse, the current situation was awkward at best especially when the elf prince's limited experience as a patient was taking into consideration. Of course he didn't want to do it. "Legolas, please don't fight us on this," he begged. "We won't be able to see that you're taken care of properly unless you consent to this examination."

"How is letting everyone in this room stare at my genitals necessary to ensuring my health or the health of my son?" demanded Legolas.

"This is ridiculous." Elladan threw his hands up in the air and fixed a determined stare on his friend. "First of all, we'renot looking _at_ your genitals; they just happen to bein the general vicinity of where we need to look.And three out of five people in this room besides you have already seen them anyway. In fact, Elrohir and I saw them just a few years ago."

That caught Aragorn's attention. "When?" he wanted to know.

"Before the Fellowship of the Ring set out from Rivendell. Just because it was improper for you two to bathe together didn't mean that the three of us couldn't. Now don't interrupt unless you're trying to help," Elladan scolded his brother before returning to the matter-at-hand. "As you very well know, that baby has to exit your body from somewhere."

"True," Legolas conceded.

"And no one is exactly sure how that's supposed to happen."

"Hence the reason why you two are leaving," Legolas told him firmly, squaring his jaw. "I don't know what you expect to find out from this particular examination."

"Perhaps we could see if any, um, changes have taken place in that region of your body," jumped in Elrohir. "It might provide us with invaluable information that would assist in our research."

"There have been no changes!" replied Legolas irritably. "If you don't trust my _own_ knowledge of my _own_ body, ask Aragorn. He should have a better knowledge of that subject than the rest of you combined. Tell them, Aragorn."

Five sets of expectant eyes went to him at once, making the Man extremely nervous. "Well, er, I didn't see anything new, but I wasn't exactly _looking_," he croaked out. Seeing his husband's eyes storm over, he gulped and quickly added, "But I'm sure I would have noticed if something in that, ah, area changed dramatically."

Elrohir shot him a withering look that made it clear that the elf lord didn't know what it was like to contend with a pregnant Legolas' temper. "Mellon nin," he said with barely controlled impatience. "This examination will take up very little of your time. It will not injure any part of you except perhaps your pride. It can, however, provide Elladan and I with a starting point for research that will help us assist you when it comes time to deliver. Now tell me, Greenleaf, what is more important to you: your pride of the well being of your son?"

"Your father used to call me Greenleaf," mumbled Legolas, not looking Elrohir in the eye.

"And would my father have asked you to do something like this unless he deemed it completely necessary?"

"Fine!" Legolas relented with a snap and rolled over onto his back. He parted his knees, put them in the air and bent his legs back as far as they would go. After positioning the blanket so that no one who opened the door would be able to fully partake in his humiliation he groused,"Just get it over with."

The twins, Ioreth, the healer, and even Aragorn moved swiftly to see what secrets the view would reveal. "I don't see anything," the healer finally stated.

Elladan ignored the frustrated groan from the other end of the bed and began a more thorough investigation. "I'm afraid I must concur," he reported in a clipped tone. "I can't feel any creases of crevices that would indicate that a birth canal was starting to form. Nor can I feel anything in the bone structure that seems to be shifting; at least not yet."

"Then would you mind removing your hand?" was Legolas' dark response.

"What makes you so certain that his body will create a birth passage?" asked Ioreth, curious rather than challenging in her question. This was without a doubt the most fascinating case she'dencountered in the Houses of Healing since…the prince's last visit. "I've attended some birthings where the mother had to be cut 'round the belly area to get the baby out safe and sound."

Aragorn shuddered at the thought and grabbed his husband's hand. A cranky Legolas yanked it away. "That is certainly a possibility," answered Elladan as he repressed a smile at the couple's silent exchange. Somehow he doubted that Aragorn and Legolas would see the humor in itat the moment. "However, my brothers and I have heard many accounts of male elves that gave birth and the apparent swiftness of their recoveries suggest that a more natural birth took place."

"But I thought elves were fast healers," Ioreth sounded confused.

"They are," Elladan assured her. "But male elves loose some of that ability during pregnancy. Even if that weren't the case, any elf would need some time to recover from the procedure that you're describing."

Legolas was getting an enormous headache. First his father and Gloin almost had a brawl in the courtyard of the citadel, stopping onlywhen he'd vomited in front of them all. Then he had to expose himself to the careful scrutiny of his brothers-in-law and two virtual strangers. Now he had to listen to them discussing his body and all the possible ways it could come open. What next?

He didn't have to wait long for the answer to that question. "I beg your pardon for interrupting," said the healer to Elladan, "but if we cannot figure out how the birth will take place at the moment, I believe we should address other issues."

Anything to steer the conversation away from all this talk of cutting! "Such as?" encouraged Aragorn, hoping that his desperation didn't sound as obvious to the others as it did to him.

"Such as the matter of the prince's weight."

"What about my weight?" Legolas demanded with a touch of frost in his tone.

"As a healer I must be frank. You are noticeably underweight for someone as far along as five to six months," explained the healer as if he were speaking to a two-year-old. Aragorn, fearing a disaster, positioned himself between the Man and his husband. "That could have serious repercussions for the child."

He couldn't take much more of this! Legolas knew how to deal with political maneuvering and court life; he was at a loss as to how he should respond to a series of well-meaning but emotionally upsetting healer consultations. "I've gained weight," he stated, his voice straining under all the self-control. "That was the first thing that both Ada and Gimli noticed when we returned."

"Yet you still aren't at the weight that is normal among the Gondorian nobles this far along."

"Those are mortals whose most strenuous activity is gossiping. I'm an elf who's just journeyed several leagues on foot and horseback."

The healer stood firm. "Prince Legolas, you are only hurting the baby by refusing to put on the weight."

Aragorn opened his mouth in outrage but Legolas beat him to the retort. "How dare you?!" he seethed, trying desperately to hold his tears at bay. Ai, Elbereth, he couldn't stand not being in control of his emotions. "I would never hurt my baby! There is no one in this city – in Middle-earth – that wants this child to be healthy more than I do." He ducked his head as the tears began to spill. "I'm – I'm not – doing – doing it on purpose…"

"Get out." Aragorn's command rang out loud and firm as he sat down next to the almost hyperventilating elf.

"Sire –"

Aragorn waved his hand in the healer's direction, warning him that silence would be his best course of action at the moment. "Elladan, Elrohir, we'll meet you at the gates before you depart, but right now none of you can do anything more that can be construed as 'healing.' Leave."

He didn't even bother to watch them shuffle out. Instead, he wrapped his arms around his husband and was relieved when he didn't jerk away. "Please melanin, breathe," he coaxed gently while rubbing his back.

"Of course I should breathe. I'll hurt the baby if I don't breathe," shot back Legolas with bitter self-loathing. "Just like I'm harming him by selfishly keeping the weight off and getting upset when people start making good-intentioned accusations. Because of me our child will be scrawny, sickly, and probably die before his first birthday." He froze suddenly and then crumbled against his husband. "Ai, Elbereth, how could I even _think_ such an awful thing, let alone say it? What's wrong with me, Aragorn?"

"You're pregnant," Aragorn told him simply. "No one quite understands what's going on or what to expect, but because you're a public figure and this is the heir to the throne of Gondor they all feel like they have the privilege to give you their opinions. While you could handle that under normal circumstances, pregnancy is doing extreme things to your emotions. It's nothing to be embarrassed or concerned about."

"How am I supposed to put up with all of this without losing my mind?" Legolas wiped his eyes in annoyance. "Ai, I don't want to give Cirion and his cronies the satisfaction of knowing that I've been crying."

Aragorn pulled him even closer. "The advisors' council can wait until we're good and ready to show up," he reassured him.

"My love, I know that they can be insufferable at time but we should try to cooperate with them," replied Legolas miserably. "Not all of them are so terrible and they're important to Gondor's political stability. I'm strong enough to deal with them."

"There is nothing more important right now than you," insisted Aragorn. "And you don't need to be strong enough all the time. Remember our conversation the last time you were in the Houses of Healing? That still holds; I'm asking you to let me be strong for you."

"I love you, Aragorn. Please remember that when I'm being so mean," Legolas managed to smile. "I didn't think about all of these difficult trials when I fantasized about having a child."

"Dreams don't always prepare you for the reality of a situation," the Man murmured fondly. "You told me something like that in Bree after I got all sweaty and hot in my clothes one memorable evening."

"Aragorn," said Legolas tiredly, though Aragorn could still hear the amusement in his voice. "Don't compare our lovemaking to _this_."

Pressing a kiss into the top of his head, Aragorn replied warmly, "I'm sorry; it will never happen again."

To be continued…

_A/N: I have a presenation and a take-home exam and then I'm done with school until the first week in January!!!! Plot bunnies, here I come._

_Can anyone out there tell me how I can complain to about the stupid editing function screw-ups? I swear Irun spell check and comb through every chapter looking for improperly-linked words and still there are mistakes that weren't there before in the final product. It's driving me insane and I'd like to do something to remedy it._


	14. Traits and proper roles

_A/N: The Test of the Hidden Shadow mentioned in this chapter is, of course, totally made up off the top of my head. I'm not crazy about its name either, but I needed to call it something that sounded dangerous without giving away too much of its purpose._

Many things could be said about the late Steward Denethor – perhaps not all of them flattering – but at least he'd always been punctual. A trait that King Elessar seemed to believe was unimportant, at least for dealing with the political nature of his title. Cirion drummed his fingers on the long wooden table and returned Belecthor's disapproving glower with a cold glare of his own. Intolerable old fool! It made him nauseous to see his fellow lords excuse the king's disdainful treatment of them while laughing and discussing baby names like a bunch of witless wives. How he longed for the days before the return of the king, when the advisors' council supported the authority of Denethor and he gave them – and the rule of Gondor – his almost undivided attention! Now Cirion was forced to endure the neglect of King Elessar, who was clearly bewitched by that elven prince.

A sneer curled his lip as Legolas' face popped into his mind. How could the king of Gondor betray his own kind by wedding a male elf of all people? Of course, Cirion could not deny that the prince was beautiful – possibly the most exquisite creature in all the lands – but one does not marry for reasons like that. A proper spouse was supposed to be quiet, demure, and above all else obedient and meek. She was meant to be pleasant to look at, but ultimately fade into the background when her husband had better things to attend to. A proper spouse would know to make her husband her world and not expect any affection in return. In other words, nothing like the willful and extravagantly lovely Prince Legolas._ He'd_ been spoiled all his life by a shower of love and affection bestowed on him by his revoltingly doting father, the lovesick king, and even a dwarf. WasCirion the only one who could see that?

The greatest treachery of all, however, took place five or six months ago when Prince Legolas used his elven magic to conceive a child in an undoubtedly unnatural way. Now his daughter's chance at becoming the queen or even a preferred royal mistress was almost non-existent. _'Bah!'_ he thought in disgust. She _should_ have been queen, for she was so mild and subservient. She would have made the perfect helpmeet for someone as busy as a king ought to be.

It wasn't as if Cirion would have insisted on denying King Elessar of is relationship with the elf entirely. It was a well known fact that men of noble blood were allowed – nay, expected – to take a lover on the side and it was obvious that Prince Legolas had all the traits of the perfect _lover_ for anyone high born. Beautiful, lustful, smart – a fitting prize for a lord to tame. Even Cirion would not decline a night in his bed. But nothing had happened the way it should have and now the little strumpet was the king's spouse and inexplicably pregnant with his child. The old noble knew he had to be quick, savvy, and ruthless now if he was going to rectify this mess.

"Ah," said Faramir loudly at the sound of the door opening. Cirion looked up to see the king and prince enter the room. Legolas' clothing, he noted with disgust, was rumpled and worn in a slightly haphazard manner as if he'd put them back on in a hurry. Continuing to have intercourse after becoming pregnant – for what? The pleasure of the king? His own pleasure? How incredibly vulgar! Yet another reason why the elf would havemade a good lover; such base behavior would be expected and welcome in someone who filled that role.

The steward rose to his feet, followed by the advisors. "Welcome, my lords."

"Thank you," replied Aragorn politely but briskly, striding over to the seats reserved for him and his husband. He could feel Legolas' expectant stare burning a hole into the back of his head. The Man knew he thought that he should be making some kind of excuse for their lateness, but he refused to do so. No matter what Legolas said, Aragorn was determined to hold on to his stubborn belief that these Men had nothing to offer Gondor but a lot of hot air.

Legolas finally broke his gaze when Aragorn sat down quietly. "I apologize for our tardiness," he said as he took his place beside him. "We had pressing business in the Houses of Healing before seeing the Lords Elladan and Elrohir off on their journey."

"The Houses?" asked Lord Eärnil. "Is all well with the child?"

"Yes," Aragorn told them all a tad defensively. Did they – especially the ones like Cirion and Eärnil, who had unmarried daughters – have to act as if they'd like nothing more than to see Legolas lose the baby? How he hated having to deal with this lot of politically-driven Men! "My brothers just wanted to give him one final examination before setting out to Rivendell."

"Thank you for your concern," added Legolas. Aragorn shot him a barely disguised incredulous look, but the elf remained collected and impassive.

"Well," Faramir cleared his throat, wanting, as he always did at those meetings, to get this over with as soon as possible. He wished that the king could be a little more tolerant and the advisors a little less pompous so that they could actually work together for the good of the realm. Unfortunately, that was never the case and their behaviors inevitably became even more polarized, making the council meetings tense. "I believe we should begin by formally congratulating King Elessar and Prince Legolas on the impending arrival of their child."

A murmur ran around the table as the nobles, some more sincerely than others, offered their best wishes. Despite his rapidly deteriorating mood, Aragorn couldn't help affectionately taking Legolas' hand as his husband smiled serenely and nodded his thanks.

Cirion knew that he had to implement his plan as soon as possible before the business of the assembly got underway. He needed to plant this seed into the minds of the advisors – and into the mind of the king. "Sire?" he spoke up as the murmurs died down.

"Yes, what is it?" asked Aragorn.

"A matter of the utmost importance," Cirion assured him. "It concerns the child."

"As will everything we discuss here today," interjected Belecthor. Having spent years in the same circles as Cirion, the nobleman knew all too well of his ambitious nature. If he implied that he had any at all concern for the baby, it was even more cause to be suspicious.

The old noble's face momentarily screwed up into a look of contempt before returning to normal. "But I believe that this is the most important issue of all," he insisted, before adding silently, _'You insufferable dotard.'_

"What would that be?" demanded Aragorn, shifting slightly in his chair. He couldn't take yet another war of words between his so-called political helpers!

This was it; Cirion took a brief pause to savor the moment before continuing. "I believe that Prince Legolas should undergo the Test of the Hidden Shadow," he asserted. "After all, one must be especially careful when it comes to the matter of the king's heir."

The suggestion, he noted wit delight, was met with blank stares from the advisors. Good; he didn't expect them to have heard of the ancient ritual. All they knew was that the name sounded ominous – something that needed to be taken care of immediately. Now all he needed was for the royal couple to consent. Once they did so, they could not back out of it without appearing as if they were trying to hide something. The plan was working; King Elessar wore an expression of stricken concern…

…But Legolas' face betrayed no emotion, with the exception of his now-stormy eyes. "I will not consent to any such test," he stated, his tone leaving no room for anyone to doubt his conviction. "And I would like to hear you explain why you would dare make such a request."

"My love," said Aragorn, sounding a bit shaken. He couldn't help remembering the effect that the shadow had before on male elves. While he understood that Sauron's evilprobablyhadn't directly robbed them of their ability to bear children, it did give him pause. What ifa lingeringmalice of the Enemy could harm Legolas and their son? "Perhaps we shouldn't dismiss this test so quickly. I know that you can defend yourself, but if any remnants of the Shadow…"

"This has nothing to do with Sauron or his darkness!" replied the affronted elf. A look of disdain crossed his face as Cirion started in surprise. "May I remind you, Lord Cirion, that what is ancient to the world of Men is just a memory of my childhood? Do you think I'm completely ignorant about the old customs of Gondor's nobility? I know what you're implying. If you're going to make such a _bold_ statement against my fidelity, do so plainly and have the courage to stand behind your words!"

Aragorn bristled as he digested what he was hearing. "Cirion," he warned threateningly. "You'd best _not_ be saying what I think you're saying."

Cirion cursed silently; this was not going according to plan! As he couldn't back down now without losing face, he would have to rely on the persuasiveness of his argument – a rather easy task, he reasoned, considering the royal couple's lustful relationship. After all, no true noble would ever fully trust his lover. "Sire, fellow counselors," he spoke in a dignified tone. "We must maintain our objectivity about this whole – _affair_."

"And what objective reasons to you have for wishing to subject me to the public humiliation of the Test?" demanded Legolas evenly, allowing just a hint of wrath to come through.

"It cannot be denied that you enjoy sexual activities," Cirion couldn't help but sneer. "I'm sure that's all well and good among the elves, but a king of Men has other duties to attend to. It is not absurd to assume, then, that you would seek out other companionship on more than one occasion. In such a case, it is entirely proper to question whether or not the child you are carrying was really sired by King Elessar."

A collective gasp rose from around the table, both from the accusation and at how quickly the king leapt to his feet and grabbed the lord. "You venomous wormtongue," he seethed, gripping the Man's shirt at the neck. "Did you think I'd actually believe your unfounded gossip? I ought to throw you out of Minas Tirith forever to free my city from such filth."

"Aragorn." Legolas' hands came down on top of his husband's, carefully prying his fingers loose. "You cannot do that now."

Aragorn stared at the elf in disbelief. "Did you not hear what he just said?!"

"I heard him, believe me," replied Legolas in a low voice. "As will the entire realm if you exile him from the city now. He'll tell everyone that I used some elvish trick to get you to banish a trusted advisor because he guessed correctly that our son really isn't ours. Some weak-minded imbeciles will actually believe him, causing a level of turmoil that none of us have the time to deal with right now. No, mela; it is easier to govern someone's speech and behavior if you keep him close."

Sucking in a deep breath, Aragorn growled, "Sit down, Cirion." The nervous lord started to obey, but the king's voice stopped him. "No, wait; first thank my husband for his merciful intervention on your behalf and then sit down."

The old lord looked ready to retch as he forced out, "Thank you, my prince."

"Now hear this," continued Aragorn in an authoritative tone. "I have known and loved Legolas for 81 years. I have known you for only four years and have never managed to work up even a grudging respect for you. It will take a lot more than your words – based in ignorance and utterly groundless – for me to even consider entertaining such a repulsive thought."

"What would it take?" muttered Cirion under his breath; still Aragorn heard him.

"Be quiet," the king snapped. "Your words are powerless here. Oh, you'll maintain your official position on the council but your voice will hold no more sway here than an unpleasant breeze - something to curse for bothering the proceedings and then forgotten." He turned his glower around the table. "And the same holds true for everyone present."

"King Elessar, Prince Legolas," said Eärnil in a shaking voice. Cirion's heart dropped at his old ally's tone. "I would just like to say on behalf of myself and my other _loyal_ colleagues that Lord Cirion's accusation has outraged us all."

Aragorn opened and closed his mouth a few times. "I can't continue this," he finally spat out. "I can't casually discuss the rule of Gondor and my son's future after this affront to the honor of both myself and my husband has occurred. We'll reconvene at a later date, and at that time I want everyone to leave all petty gossip outside the room."

Legolas placed a hand on Aragorn's shoulder as the advisors milled out. "Are you all right?"

"I should be asking _you_ that. I'm so sorry you had to hear that, Legolas, especially after what you went through in the Houses of Healing."

He surprised Aragorn by laughing. "I grew up in a formal court, my love," Legolas reminded him. "The first lesson I learned there was that any words – positive or negative – that come from anyone with that much hot air have nothing to do with the reality of the situation. I'll take a room full of people like Cirion over that healer any time."

To be continued…


	15. The great name debate

_A/N: Happy holiday season to all! Here's an early Christmas present, if you celebrate it, or just a little bonus if you don't. I'll be a kind of busy on Friday, when I usually update this story, so I decided to just go ahead and do it now. _

For possibly the first time ever, the food on the breakfast table wasn't the reason for Pippin's ridiculous grin and shining, excited eyes. Even more stunning was the fact that he was turned slightly _away_ from the impressive spread of breads, fruits, cheese, and other assorted culinary items and his hand was not reaching for a sausage, but instead resting on Legolas' stomach. The hobbit held his entire body perfectly still for a few moments – a miraculous feat in itself – before jumping back with a gasp. "Wow," he breathed in awe. "That's unbelievable. When he kicks, he really kicks doesn't he? Does it hurt you, Legolas?"

"Most certainly not," Legolas told him.

"Move over," Merry admonished his cousin cheerfully. "As this child's Uncle Meriadoc, I insist on feeling him kick too." He too placed his hands on the elf, frowning after a few long moments. "I don't feel anything."

"Oooh, he kicked again!" Pippin squealed with more enthusiasm than was necessary. "I guess this means that he just doesn't like you as much as he likes his Uncle Peregrin."

Merry let out an offended squawk. "What is means is that you're hogging all the good kicking places. Move!"

Eowyn watched them as they grabbed at each other's hands, vying for the place of honor, with a knowing smirk on her face. "This brings back so many memories," she stated with a sigh. "The maddening cravings for apples, the joy of family and friends, and the widely-held belief people seemed to adhere to that it was entirely proper for them to touch my stomach without first obtaining my permission."

The squabbling hobbits froze in mid-motion, their hands grasping each other while suspended over an amused Legolas. "Did you find that to be true, Rose?" she continued.

"Oh, I don't know milady," Rose Gamgee blushed. In the past few days she'd been introduced to her husband's strange friends again, this time individually so as not to overwhelm her. She was more used to being in the presence of the Big Folk and had even built up a kind of camaraderie with Eowyn while their daughters played together. Still, she wasn't quite comfortable with engaging in their easy banter. With this being the first time they'd all been gathered together, without a crowd surrounding them, since the traumatic confrontation in the Houses of Healing, Sam's wife was just a little nervous. "Maybe, perhaps, sometimes when they talked more 'bout it than they did to me."

Merry and Pippin drew back their hands instantly as if they'd been burned. "We're sorry, Legolas," Merry apologized at once.

"Yeah," agreed Pippin, suddenly nervous as he remembered the elf's new tendency for dramatic mood swings. "We're both sorry, but I'm sorrier. Not that I'm the worst grabber of the two of us – Merry does have a reputation in the Shire and all – but still –"

"It's all right, you two," Legolas reassured them with a laugh as Merry shot Pippin a most offended look. "I ought to know by now that hobbits are incurably curious creatures at times, and tend to look just as much with their hands as they do with their eyes. It might be one of the most endearing traits they possess and I wouldn't have it any other way. Stop stirring up mischief, Eowyn."

"Mischief? Me?"

Faramir smiled affectionately at his wife. "Please do not fault her for it, my prince," he said innocently. "She can't help herself. In fact, she wouldn't be Eowyn if she didn't instigate a little mischief every now and again, even if it does get her poor husband into trouble as well."

"I can relate to your plight," Aragorn told him, struggling to keep his tone and face serious.

Legolas cocked an eyebrow at his husband's long-suffering sigh. "Tread carefully," he warned dryly. "Or else I shall be forced to tell many of the stories that the twins recounted to me about your rather mischievous childhood."

"Now let's not start any bickering," interjected Sam in the same tone he'd used the previous day when Elanor and Findowyn were arguing over whether to play tea party or balrog slayer. "We actually have the chance to share a nice, pleasant meal together without all that political stuff going on. How often is this going to happen? I'll not have any more insults and teasing spoilin' the mood."

Sam's assessment of their enjoyable situation was very true. For once, Aragorn and Legolas were able to spend one mealtime with the hobbits, Faramir, and Eowyn without having to attend to other guests as well. The children weren't present either; Eomer – unable to attend himself because of his official position as a dignitary and Gondor's need to treat all of their politically official foreign guests equally – had gallantly offered to keep an eye on them. The same reasons that barred Eomer from joining them also prevented the inclusion of Gloin and Gimli thought it wise to spend the morning meal with his father. Even Thranduil had politely excused himself, not being overly fond of Man food and disliking the notion of being confined inside on such a fine day.

No one was enjoying this temporary reprieve from duty and conflict more than Aragorn. "I believe it must fall on me to set an example for these two wayward hobbits," he announced grandly. "May I please place my hands on you in order to feel our baby kick, my love?"

"Why, of course, Your Majesty," replied Legolas with perfect courtly dignity. Aragorn kissed is temple and placed his hands on the slight bulge.

"Can you feel anything?" asked Pippin eagerly.

A smile broke across the Man's face as the skin beneath his palm moved. "That's nothing short of a miracle," he proclaimed. "It's as if he knows it's his sire and this is his way of saying hello. Oh Legolas, our son is already intelligent, willful, and strong."

"Despite of what any healer may believe," muttered Legolas under his breath as he finished off another piece of bread. Over the past few months he'd developed a heightened appreciation for food; but ever since his examination in the Houses it all made him a little uncomfortable. Was he eating enough? Was there such a thing as too much in his current condition? Could he harm the baby by eating the wrong foods? Aragorn, noting the melancholy that had crept into his husband's disposition, tightened his arms around him."

"Baby, child, son," remarked Pippin thoughtfully, not hearing what the prince had just said. "You're sure the baby's a boy, right?"

Legolas immediately felt his mood elevate as he recalled the vision of the little boy that resembled Aragorn with pointed, elven ears. "There is no doubt in my mind," he confirmed.

"Then maybe we should come up with a _name_ for the little tyke," Pippin suggested, "and stop calling him all that other stuff."

"He's right," spoke up Merry, clearly excited at the prospect of discussing what to call his "nephew." "You don't want him thinking that his name's Baby, do you? No one would take him seriously then."

"No, you can't have that," chimed in Sam, remembering how he and Rose struggled to find the perfect name for their firstborn. Right after Frodo suggested the perfect name, Elanor, Sam had set about making a list of other possibilities so that they would have an idea in the future. The list currently had eight names on it and although he didn't think they'd use all of them, he always liked coming up with more. "Do you two have anything in particular in mind?"

"So much as happened in such a short period of time that I haven't been able to give the matter much thought," admitted Aragorn, feeling somewhat sheepish that he had to be reminded to name his own heir. "Do you have any preferences, Legolas?"

"Nothing that my heart is totally committed to," Legolas said. He ran a hand over the bulge that was his child as the vision flashed in his mind again. "He's going to look so much like you; as you were when we first met. I wouldn't mind calling him Estel."

Aragorn pondered this possibility for a moment. "Perhaps for a nickname," he finally said. "Estel is a fine name, but it is difficult for me to imagine a King Estel seated upon the throne of Gondor. Besides, Elladan and Elrohir would take to calling us _Big Estel_ and _Little Estel_ and it would not be right for him to be known as Little Estel for his entire life."

"The future king of Gondor needs a grander name," Pippin declared with a twinkle in his eye. "Might I suggest Peregrin? Good, strong name, that is."

"For a pet, maybe," scoffed Merry. "Though King Meriadoc has a nice ring to it."

"I don't think it would be a wise idea to name him after any of you," replied Legolas with a chuckle. "I can just imagine the endless bickering that would cause! Although, I _am_ tempted to name him after one of the twins just for the sheer amusement the situation's bound to create."

"For the sake of familial peace and harmony, I beg you to resist that urge," said Aragorn, only half-joking.

Faramir cleared his throat. "The council was discussing this very topic before you arrived yesterday," he announced, looking more than a little uncomfortable. He greatly disliked passing the doings of the advisors' along to the king, but it was something that had to be done.

Immediately resenting the gall they possessed to think that they had any say in what his son was named, Aragorn demanded stiffly, "And what did they come up with?"

"More than a few of them agreed that Isildur would be the perfect name," the steward informed them. "They though that it would be only fitting after you spoke the words of Elendil at your coronation, sire."

Legolas' face froze into an expression that was half-amused and half-horrified. His father _hated_ Isildur with a passion that he usually reserved for the hatred of orcs and dwarves. The fall of his own father – Legolas' grandsire – Oropher during the Last Alliance of Men and Elves had been a sore enough blow without the Man taking the One Ring for his own. As far as Thranduil was concerned, his father's death was made vain by the weakness of Isildur. This, of course, was entirely Legolas and Aragorn's decision to make, but naming their son after him would be perceived as a huge insult to the elven king, tantamount to spitting in his face. "No, that name is _not_ acceptable," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"What name?" Thranduil's voice broke in. Legolas glanced up to see him stride across the room. Pippin and Merry quickly moved down the bench so that father and son could sit next to each other.

"What are you doing here, Ada?" Legolas asked him.

Thranduil let out a sigh. "King Eomer of Rohan brought the children to the garden I was walking in," he explained as he picked an apple up off the table and placed it in his son's hand. "I found that it would be more peaceful to join you instead." He turned a respectfully restrained pointed gaze to Faramir and Eowyn. "Now, I adore children as much as anyone else, but must I really be the balrog every time young Findowyn gets out her sword?"

"She thinks that you don't have enough fun," Eowyn offered in explanation. "And the girls played tea party yesterday."

"Yes, well," Thranduil hedged. "It seems that I've arrived in time for an important debate. Are you deciding what to call my grandchild?"

"Yes sire," said Faramir. "Your son, in fact, has just rejected the council's choice of Isildur."

A shadow passed over the older elf's face at the mention of the name. "As well he should," he replied darkly. Legolas leaned against him and put his head on his shoulder. The comforting gesture brought Thranduil back to the present and he smiled down at his son. "Please eat, my Little Greenleaf. You must keep up your strength."

Dutifully, Legolas brought the apple to his lips and started taking large, dramatic bites. "He should have a strong elvish name," Thranduil continued, bemused when the mouthful of fruit kept Legolas from responding. "That is what happens when you get cheeky with your father, ion nin. I know that you wanted to say, and I disagree. An elvish name would be entirely appropriate. After all, you are an elf and Aragorn has elvish blood in his lineage while you have no Man-blood. Why should the child then not be named for both of your bloodlines? It would be a fitting tribute to your daerada to call him Oropher."

"King Thranduil's right!" agreed Sam enthusiastically. "I just love elvish names and there are a lot of fine ones out there. "Oropher's wonderful; as is Elrond, after your father, Mr. Strider. Oh, and that name from the story that Mr. Bilbo told me a long time ago! What was it? That's right: Gil-galad."

"Those are great names of very noble elves," noted Aragorn thoughtfully. "Perhaps too great. That would be much to ask a child to live up to. At any rate, it would not feel right to name him after members and close friends of one of our family's to the exclusion of the other's."

Faramir frowned. "He _will_ have to rise up to some level of greatness eventually," he reminded them. "Still, it would probably be wise not to sow the seeds of expectation on such a grand level. What if you named him in honor of a great person that you know?"

"But that leads us back to the question of who that person would be," debated Legolas good-naturedly. "As Aragorn said, it wouldn't be right to name him after only one side of the family. That narrows the list significantly; down to two, in fact: Boromir and Theoden. But it wouldn't feel right to select any of those names, to which you, Eowyn, and Eomer should have sole claim."

Pippin's eyes brightened as he bounced in his seat. "I know! I know!" he cried out in excitement. "You should call him Gandalf, or Mithrandir – yes that sounds even more proper. It's an elvish name and you both knew him as well as anyone could."

"Talk about having a grand name and great expectations to grow into," commented Merry with a roll of his eyes.

Legolas leaned back against Aragorn as the debate continued. "I'm afraid that our son will have no name at all if we continue to carry on like this," he said serenely.

"There is still time," Aragorn assured him with a warm smile. "I think we'll need to see him before deciding on anything for certain. You'll see, my love; after his birth, we can hold him together and the perfect name will come to us."

A thought – a feeling, really – passed through Legolas' mind just then that chilled him. Something told him that things would not transpire as Aragorn had just predicted, that they would not be able to hold their son together after he was born. _'No,'_ he banished that thought with a slight shake of his head. He was no Elrond, no Galadriel, and certainly no Mithrandir; this feeling was surely the result of his anxiety over the baby's well being and name, not a premonition of the future. He smiled at his husband and vowed to give it no more of his attention.

To be continued…


	16. Reconnect

It took a few weeks later before Thranduil finally admitted to himself that he was in an intolerable situation and, strangely enough, it wasn't the one he expected to be in. As he'd been supervising the move of his possessions from Ithilien to the city, he'd believed wholeheartedly that by this time he'd have been forced to subdue his son's husband's blathering many times over. However, that simply wasn't the case as Aragorn had been holding his tongue admirably and the two had developed an unspoken agreement to just let each other be.

In fact, his living situation was more than just tolerable; it was downright pleasant. It was a joy to witness Legolas putting on more weight to the point where his pregnancy was noticeable even when he didn't wear a snug tunic. The feeling was only augmented by the fact that, for the first time in four years, he was living with family again. Life in Ithilien could sometimes be lonely, especially as more and more of his people took the river Anduin to the sea and beyond. Forming and maintaining relationships with others was not easy for Thranduil, who'd lost so many people he loved. It was especially difficult now that he lived amongthe race of Men, who still regarded him with a mixture of awe and discomfort. It was just nice to feel needed again, to be able to do things such as fuss over his son's eating habits and the amount of rest he was getting without being receiving too much resistance. He was as happy as he could be living under the same room as the Man who'd slept with his baby.

No, the situation that Thranduil found so reprehensible wasn't something he wasn't prepared to deal with because, before, he'd never really considered it to be a possibility. Ai Elbereth, just five years earlier he would have thought the whole thing utterly absurd. But if that was the case, then why was he sulking around the stone yard, loitering amongst the piles of rocks that were waiting to be added to the various projects taking place in the city? The weeks of social isolation had taken their toll and he was finally forced to confront the reality of what was going on: he, Thranduil Oropherion missed the companionship of a dwarf.

How Mithrandir and Elrond would laugh if they could see him now! They'd spent countless years lecturing that all free folk should put aside their differences and work together for the common good and peace. It was a lofty ideal as far as he was concerned; one for people who didn't have a responsibility to any one land or with a ring-protected haven far away from the stronghold of the Enemy but undesirable and unobtainable for someone in his position, and he let them know that. Now he held a friendship that they'd championed and he'd resisted. While it didn't have its foundations in the good of all, it was based on something he considered to be equally important: his son, Legolas. Through their mutual concerns for his well being, Gimli had become a prominent part of the elf king's life without him even realizing it.

Thranduil sat down on a large boulder with a heavy sigh, toeing some pebbles in the dirt and feeling quite petulant for being an ages-old creature who should know better. _'He's not _that _important,'_ he argued to himself, knowing all the while that it wasn't true. Having Gimli to talk to about his love and concerns for Legolas, about his fear of losing him to death and knowing that would destroy him provided him with a most welcome release. Too often the people he shared such matters with either told him, as Mithrandir and Elrond did, that he was overreacting and that he couldn't change the way it would eventually have to be, or else nodded along with whatever he said, like most of his household staff. He had no need for advice or blind agreement when speaking about Legolas and Gimli offered neither of those. Instead, he listened, offered his own views, and understood why Thranduil felt the way he did. It was almost like having a parenting partner.

Perhaps that was the crux of it all; never before had Thranduil had anyone to fill that part, to help him bear the joys and grief that came along with being a parent. His beloved wife had been afflicted with sea-longing while pregnant and she'd considered taking the ship to the Undying Lands with the child still inside of her. Hehad beenmost hopeful when she decided to remain in Middle-earth long enough to give birth to Legolas, thinking that she would somehow change her mind about leaving altogether, but that wasn't to be. She'd placed the baby into his arms and departed almost immediately after the birth.

After she left, his devastation knew no bounds and he could only find solace and peace in the company of his son. Oh, many wise and nosy individuals urged him to employ a nanny but Thranduil steadfastly refused. It pained him beyond belief just to allow someone else to hold Legolas; how could he even consider letting someone else assist him with the raising his child? Even the thought of anyone but his wife doing such a thing was unbearable. Taking on the responsibility himself was both a burden and a delight,forging a father-son bond that the elven king wouldn't trade for all the jewels in the lands, but it was also incredibly lonely. His friendship with the dwarf offered him an unlooked for reprieve from that and Thranduil found himself loath to give it up.

He hadn't seen Gimli in a significant way since his father showed up on his doorstep and they'd unintentionally brought their decades-old grudges to the courtyard of the citadel. While Thranduil was _not_ fond of Gloin by any means, he understood the importance of a son's relationship with his father and gave them the space for them to resolve any conflict that Gimli's friendships may have caused between them. As far as he was concerned, however, if that hadn't been accomplished by now then his presence probably wouldn't make much of a difference. It was time for him to reconnect with his friend.

Finding a way to do that without Gloin being nearby was not easy, but Thranduil was confident that the stone yard was the right location for that to take place. While the visiting dwarves were assisting in the building of several new walls, their current project – constructing a perimeter around Legolas' magnificent garden in Minas Tirith – was close to Gimli's heart and he insisted on selecting the perfect stones himself. On that day, it was only a matter of time before he came to find a suitable focal stone for the west-facing wall.

Gimli arrived alone, just as Thranduil predicted. "What are you doing here?" he asked, feeling a bit uncomfortable when he spied the elven king.

"Waiting for you," responded Thranduil. "I wish to speak with you."

"This probably isn't the best time for that," hedged Gimli, looking over his shoulder apprehensively. "We're all working very hard on this; I want this wall to be done before Legolas delivers the child. It – it will afford him some protection when he's walking about in that garden like he always insists on doing."

He turned to leave but Thranduil's words stopped him in his tracks. "I still count you among my friends, master dwarf," said the elf in a neutral tone. "If you no longer do the same, all I ask is that you do me the courtesy of informing me directly."

Gimli sat down next to him, feeling deflated. "It's not that," he insisted. "It's just that having my father here, well it…complicates matters. None of this was supposed to happen, as you very well know, and he had no warning of any of it. The last time I was in Father's presence was in Rivendell before the Fellowship set out, when I was bellowing _'never trust an elf'_ before the Council of Elrond. Becoming friends with Legolas came as a bit of a shock to me; becoming friends with _you_ was an utterly ridiculous notion right up to the time it actually happened."

"But why does that matter?' stressed Thranduil. "You are well past the age of majority and quite capable of choosing your own friends. Why, I was just as stunned to discover that my son had befriended a dwarf; yet I did not fly into a rage and force the two of you to meet like thieves conspiring before they strike."

"Watch your tongue," warned Gimli, his eyes darkening a bit. "The circumstances are _completely_ different. For one thing, you never had a personal grievance against me in particular."

Thranduil groaned with frustration. "Must we always return to that?" he demanded. "It was one moth that occurred decades ago! So much has happened since then among all of our peoples."

"Dwarves have long memories and hold tightly to grudges."

"The stubbornness of it all!" vented Thranduil, exasperated. "I will concede that wrong decisions were made on all accounts, but the Shadow was lurking in our woods. It was my responsibility to keep my people safe from all and I would not have given anyone – elf, Man, dwarf, or hobbit – the benefit of the doubt if I knew that they were withholding information."

After regarding him for a long moment, Gimli asked, "Would you be willing to say that to Father and do him the courtesy of listening to his view on the whole affair?"

"Would he even grant me an audience if I agreed?" shot back Thranduil in a huff. "Or return an apology and explanation if given one by me?"

The dwarf was silent and Thranduil wondered if he'd been too candid. He opened his mouth to offer his regrets when Gimli suddenly gave a belly-shaking guffaw. "Stubbornness is a trait that dwarves and elves seem to share," he commented. "It is no wonder that our races have refused to reach an understanding." His face grew serious as a long-cherished memory came to mind. "Do you know how Legolas and I first came to be friends?"

"All he told me was that you two were able to put aside your prejudices in Lothlorien."

"He apologized to me." Gimli smiled as he remembered Legolas' breathless and hurried words under the mallorn tree that first night in the land of the Lady. "Poor lad; he must have almost choked on all the pride he had to swallow in order to get all of that out, but he still managed. Legolas realized that he was being unfair inhisanger at me for Mithrandir's death and for refusing to be the only member of the Fellowship blindfolded by the marchwarden and said he was sorry for it all."

A sad smile flitted over Thranduil's lips. "That sounds like something his mother would do."

"He didn't expect me to return any such sentiment either," continued Gimli. "It was a selfless gesture and I remember thinking at first that my kinsmen would laugh to see a contrite elf. That thought, and the second of smugness that it afforded, made me feel guilty; that's when I realized that the responsibility of the conflict between our two races did not lay solely on the elves, for such sincerity should never be returned with scorn. That was why I acknowledged that our situations could have easily been reversed had we come to a dwarvish land after losing a friend in an elvish realm. From that point on, I was able to look upon Legolas and only see him; not just an elf or the son of the Elvenking who'd imprisoned my father, just Legolas."

"And I am happy for it, as he needed you on that journey,"said Thranduil softly. "But if you are implying that your father and I can come to a similar understanding, I feel I must remind you that we are not on a quest to save Middle-earth. Such an agreement may not be possible."

"True," conceded Gimli, "and you two don't have to become as good of friends as Legolas and I, or you and I for that matter. I'd gladly settle for tolerating each other's existence – and I'm afraid that it will fall on you to take that first step."

"Legolas misses you," said Thranduil suddenly. "I am well aware that you visit with him at the receptions and feasts held for the delegations and he understands that your father occupies a great deal of your time, but he still needs you. He is attempting to take it easy, but Aragorn cannot always be with him, Faramir and Eowyn have their own family to attend to, and hobbits are not expected to return from their journey to the Cross Roads until tomorrow and it is difficult for him."

Gimli's heart twisted. "Merry and Pippin were going on and on about how they got to feel the baby kick," he noted, jealousy creeping into his voice.

"He needs all the support that is available to him," Thranduil informed him. "It is just made worse by the fact that it is the counselors to the king, and not his own friends, that he has had the most contact with as of late."

"Is he still insisting on subjecting himself to those infernal advisors' council meetings?" Gimli demanded, snorting when the elf nodded in the affirmative. "Foolish elf; why must he always put himself in such stressful situations? I know – he never told me, but I _know_ – that a few of those pompous advisors made him miserable, telling him that he should encourage Aragorn to take a mistress in order to produce an heir or some nonsense like that. I should have taken my axe to the lot of them!"

"The meetings are improving, at least according to his recount," said Thranduil, though his tone showed that he clearly doubted that. "I grow uneasy every time he attends one. That is where he is at right now; putting himself and his child through all of that stress and resentment. How I fear for him, Gimli! Not only is he enduring the normal side effects that this kind of pregnancy brings, but also the scrutiny of almost everyone that comes in his path. Thanks to some healer he is already nervous about his food intake. What if – what if – I cannot help feeling as if all of this is putting his life in jeopardy."

"Legolas has an enormous amount of strength, power, and courage," declared Gimli, placing a comforting hand on Thranduil's arm. "You'd be amazed at what he can live through if he has to. He's not alone all the time either; that's why you're here, and why I'm going to be there. The council should be over by lunch time, correct?"

"Yes."

Gimli nodded resolutely. "I'll be joining you and Legolas for lunch, then," he decided. "Father can keep busy with the other delegates; I have neglected my life outside of him for far too long."

Thranduil smiled down at the hand. "I am glad to hear that," he told him. "For I believe I need your friendship and support just as much as my son does."

"What's taking you so long? I doubt an elf will be able to even appreciate the beautiful stones in this wall," Gloin's gruff voice sounded. The old dwarf froze, his eyes narrowing when he spotted his son sitting with Thranduil. "What's wrong with you? Abandoning your own kind and good dwarvish work to prattle on with this –"

"I shall take up no more of your time," interrupted Thranduil before Gloin said anything that his pride would force him to respond to. He was determined not to lose another friend if he could prevent such an occurrence; a verbal sparring might swell his ego, but he was no longer willing to risk Gimli's friendship for it. Rising to his feet, he continued, "Thank you for listening, Gimli son of Gloin."

"Likewise." Thranduil turned and started to walk away when Gimli called out after him: "I'll see you and Legolas for lunch at noon."

Dwarvish yells in two voices sprang up behind him, but the elven king continued on, glad that he didn't understand that particular language when it was being spoken so quickly. The reconciliation of sorts with his friend had lifted his spirits immensely. Now all he could hope for was that it would do the same for Legolas and help soothe the fears that were plaguing both of them.

To be continued…

_A/N: We'll get back to Legolas and Aragorn (or at least one of them…) in the next chapter, I promise!_


	17. Desperate times

As it had been since the day that the king imposed his figurative banishment, the meeting of the advisors' council couldn't conclude soon enough for Lord Cirion's pride. Each one was more humiliating as the last now that he'd been cast down and all of his real power stripped away. King Elessar, who never held any real trust in the words of any advisor save Faramir – if the steward even counted as one– even though he always did listen, continued to follow through on his punishment down to the last detail. Everyone now refused to acknowledge Cirion's existence; the king even went so far as the restrain himself from even sending a glare in his direction when the lord spoke loudly, insulted anyone, or interrupted others. The meetings carried on around him as he were nothing more than a stone statue that memorialized a person and time that had passed instead of a high-ranking and well respected lord. The entire situation was maddening!

The most powerful blow to Cirion's pride and sense of dignity, however, came not during a meeting but rather after the one that took place the previous week. Desperate to regain the king's favor – well, not favor, for he never had that; _attention_ was a more fitting word – the once mighty lord had approached Prince Legolas to humble himself before him. The elf had filled out a bit since the disastrous meeting that had led to all of his current difficulties and didn't seem to desire to move as quickly as he used to. Instead he had lingered in his seat, his hands resting on his stomach and a smile on his face so content that it mocked Cirion in his misery. The lord rushed forward to his side and, seizing his arm, begged – _begged_ – for his assistance, for him to speak to King Elessar on his behalf and restore his position to what it should be. Legolas had looked at him and it pained Cirion to behold his beauty, his swollen stomach that told that he was with child, and his royal title while his own daughter had been denied the same. Then the elf prince did what Cirion deemed unforgivable: he refused.

'_It is not my place to question the king's ruling once it has been carried out, Lord Cirion; nor is it my desire to presume to do so,'_ were his exact words.

Furious at being dismissed by this creature that shouldn't have such authority over him in the first place, Cirion tightened his grip on his arm enough to leave bruises and sting as much as his pride at that moment. Legolas never flinched or showed any sign of discomfort or fear, maintaining a cool expression even as the lord got into his face and hissed that it was disgusting how he walked around showing off his pregnant belly instead of going into confinement.

'_Gondor's nobility will not long tolerate your strange elvish ways,' _he fumed into that pointed ear.

King Elessar had witnessed the whole affair andforced himself to keep frominterfering while Cirion just spoke to his husband. Once his body language and facial expression revealed the extent of his fury he'd rushed to Legolas' side and pulled the lord away. The strain he had felt in resisting the urge to strike Cirion dead was evident but the king knew how to conduct himself in front of an audience and only warned that he'd rot away in some hideous dungeon if he ever presumed even to cast a scowl in the prince's direction again. From the looks in the other advisors' eyes as he then cast his gaze around the room in search of an ally, Cirion had known that he had lost whatever remained of his supporters.

That splintering of the old internal alliances was something that he was determined to confront the present day away from the king's watchful and suspicious eyes. As soon as the meeting adjourned he hurried from the room and searched out a place to hide himself until the proper moment. Finding an appropriately darkened part of the corridor that was still in sight of the meeting hall and yet out of earshot, he discreetly situated himself there and watched as they all slowly filtered out.

Cirion was most pleased when one of the very people he wished to speak to emerged a few minutes later and unknowingly headed in his direction. "Eärnil," he whispered loud enough to get the other advisor's attention. "I ask for an audience."

Eärnil refused to heed his voice and continued on his way. "Eärnil, halt," said Cirion at his normal volume as he came out of the shadows to block his path. Eärnil attempted to maneuver around him but he put his arms out to prevent that from happening. "Will you not listen to the urgent words of an old ally? We used to speak often about matters of a political nature that concerned our fair realm."

"I have no desire to speak with you in such a way again," replied Eärnil frostily. "I will not converse with you about anything again, as a matter of fact, if I am allowed to make that choice."

Cirion's blood boiled. "Those are not your words," he spat out. "Do you now blindly follow the whims of an elf instead of being true to your own countryman, you traitor?"

"Those words are my own and they express my own decisions," responded Eärnil fiercely. Accusations such as _traitor_ were not usually tossed around so lightly and never tolerated by the accused if false. "I am loyal to the King Elessar and will not give him a reason to doubt that. He would rightly strip me of all of my power and influence if I began consorting with you. He has made it clear that he will not endure a wormtongue in his court."

"You admit, then, that the king is trying to create divisions amongst the ranks of the advisors," said Cirion forcefully, desperately. "Those are the actions of a puppet or a tyrant. Either he seeks to wield total control over Gondor or else his elvish husband is using him for the same ends! We must now stand together if we wish to maintain any sort of power at all. Tell me that you are not blind enough not to see that."

"King Elessar was right in his decision to disempower your voice," breathed Eärnil, sounding completely horrified. "Every phrase you've uttered and action you've taken since Prince Legolas announced his pregnancy has been more and more insane! You dare call me a traitor? Treason spews from your mouth even now, and comes so close on the heels of your _attack_ on the very person that is bearing the heir to the throne. For your own sake, Cirion, let go of the Gondor that was and this imagined future that will never be and accept the king and prince as they rightfully are."

This betrayal could only be a jest! "I could accept King Elessar if he conducted the court in a manner befitting a king," Cirion growled, "but there is nothing 'rightful' about Prince Legolas' position. His presence makes a mockery of our meetings. We cannot be expected to carry on as we always have been when he disrupts the process and tries to force his own views and beliefs into our laws."

"That is not true and you're a fool if you believe otherwise," shot back Eärnil. "He says nothing unless either he is asked or else we are discussing the child. I have grown quite grateful for his attendance actually, if you want my opinion –"

"I do not," muttered Cirion irritably.

"Having him there is an asset to the advisors," Eärnil continued, sending a dark look in his direction. "King Elessar is a fair ruler and Gondor is fortunate to have him on the throne, but he sees little use for our council. It's almost as if he thinks of court politics as nothing more than a child's game, always searching out hidden meanings in what we say and never completely trusting our words. Prince Legolas grew up in a proper court setting and because of that he understands what part we play in Gondor's political stability. I believe he's even been encouraging the king to embrace that; perhaps the council would have been dissolved a long time ago without his influence. He could be a powerful ally for us."

Cirion wasn't ready to concede the debate yet. "He is an elf who is set on forcing his peoples' ways on this realm of Men," he insisted scornfully.

"What does that even mean?" Eärnil demanded. "You can name no law that has been added, altered, or overturned because of his influence; there are none. Are you objecting to the gardens that he and the other elves have planted, to the green trees that stand in place of the dead ones, and the restoration of a living White Tree? Do you not like the fact that it was due in part to his friendship with the Lord Gimli that the walls and gates of Minas Tirith are being repaired by skilled dwarves? If beauty, strength, and life are the results of this perceived interference, I can safely speak for the rest of the people when I say that I hope to see more of it."

"He had no business marrying Gondor's king just because he bewitched and seduced him when he was still a young Man!" Cirion burst out, venting his deepest resentment. "My daughter –"

"My daughter, my daughter, my daughter!" mocked Eärnil, unable to stop himself from covering his own ears and pulling his hair in frustration. "Everyone is sick of hearing about how your daughter should be the queen. Ever since she was a little girl you have pushed for her to enter into the most advantageous marriage possible and she has told anyone who would listen that she was going to be the wife of whoever ruled our kingdom. I too have an unmarried daughter and while I cannot deny that I was disappointed that she could not marry King Elessar, I am still able to see that he chose his spouse wisely. Your daughter had no more claim to the position of queen than any other noble – none at all. Prince Legolas did not rob her of anything! Your foolish ambitions have failed, Cirion. I implore you to cease this madness before it utterly ruins you."

With one last censoring look, Eärnil stalked around Cirion and vanished down the corridor. Cirion, unable or unwilling to let go of what had driven him for so long, stewed over the betrayal he believed he'd just received from someone who used to be trustworthy. Prince Legolas was destroying so much of what he held the right too, he fumed silently, and that needed to be rectified soon before the birth of the baby further complicated matters.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

"It doesn't matter if this child prefers his Uncle Peregrin over his Uncle Meriadoc or if it's the other way around," declared Gimli triumphantly as he held his hand on the bulge of Legolas' stomach. "It's plain to me that he prefers his Uncle Gimli over the lot of them!"

"Are you not hungry then, Gimli?" asked Legolas mischievously, making a show of moving his hand closer and closer to the dwarf's food-laden plate. He probably shouldn't be teasing him during mealtime, when he had the responsibility of nourishing his unborn baby, but he couldn't help himself. Having Gimli show up unexpectedly with his father for lunch was one of the happiest surprises he'd had in weeks. "It would be a shame to let all of that go to waste. Shall I call for the dogs? They like people food."

Gimli snapped his head up, ready to defend his lunch from whatever would prevent it from ending up in his belly when a sudden movement made him freeze. "He kicked again!" he announced, a delighted grin spreading from ear-to-ear. "By Aule, laddie; he's going to be as strong as a mountain dwarf and that is the highest praise he could receive from one of that race."

"If you're quite done, master dwarf," Thranduil spoke up with mock disapproval, "I must ask you to allow my son to eat. Honestly, why did I miss you when I know you are such a distraction?"

Legolas quirked an eyebrow. "You missed him, Ada?" he teased.

The tips of Thranduil's ears turned slightly red to Legolas' surprise and amusement. "There is nothing wrong with admitting that."

"Stop tormenting your father," Gimli piped in. "Especially since your mouth could be busy doing more important things, like _eating_."

Legolas rolled his eyes but complied, spreading some honey on a piece of bread and popping it into his mouth. "What did I ever do to deserve you two?" he bantered. Suddenly his face scrunched in disgust and it took all of his court training not to spit the bread out. "Or that! Ai Elbereth, that was revolting! Since when had bread and honey had such a sickeningly sweet taste?"

"I've never liked that honey stuff to be sure," said Gimli, concern in his voice as he watched him take large gulps of water, "but you've always liked it in the past."

"It's the pregnancy," said Thranduil knowingly. "Your mother had a similar experience when she was carrying you; her taste in food was always altering. Try some of the fruit instead."

The prince obediently but cautiously put a grape in his mouth and was relieved that he found it to be delicious. "I'm sorry that Aragorn couldn't be here," he said, more to Gimli than to his father. Thranduil, he was certain, had probably had more than his fill of the Man's company. "He needed to discuss some business with Faramir."

"I can excuse his absence for that," stated Gimli simply. "There is much that he must attend to with the impending birth and the delegations."

"Still, I wish that he didn't have to conduct politics like this," Legolas sighed. He looked up and forced a smile when he saw the worried gazes of his father and Gimli. "But it's not as bad as it has been in the past. Aragorn is starting to utilize the advisors' council more efficiently. The meeting today was very productive."

Thranduil's eyes clouded over. "Was that Cirion in attendance?" he demanded darkly.

"Yes," replied Legolas carefully. "He's always present but he didn't even look at me today."

"I should hope not," was his father's grim response. "It is damnable that he is even walking around as a free Man after attacking you last week."

_That_ got Gimli's attention. "Someone hurt you?" he growled protectively. "Why wasn't I informed?"

"No one hurt me," bristled Legolas, somewhat offended at the unintentional implication that he couldn't defend himself. "Lord Cirion asked me to speak with Aragorn on his behalf and when I refused he squeezed my arm. It was only a little uncomfortable! It will take a lot more than that to intimidate and frighten me. Stop making it should like it took every one of the citadel guards to keep him from slaying me, Ada."

"I do not like that Man!" groused Thranduil as he turned to Gimli. "Do you know, my friend, that the very same noble accused Legolas of being unfaithful to Aragorn? He had the audacity to stand before the council and say that there was an excellent chance that the baby wasn't sired by him because no Man could satisfy an elf's lust."

Gimli's face contorted with outrage and he grabbed for his axe. "That is inexcusable!"

"It was not excused," interjected Legolas firmly. "Aragorn imposed a fitting punishment; now Lord Cirion is little more than a figurative exile with no real power."

"He should be a _literal_ exile!" Gimli fumed. "Why wasn't he banished on the spot."

"Because I asked Aragorn not to," explained Legolas with a weary sigh. There was a time and place for everything and he didn't want to spend what was supposed to be an enjoyable lunch discussing these matters. "Not only had the Man just challenged me to prove my baby's legitimacy, but he was also one of Lord Denethor's most loyal political allies. If he'd been banished, he and his friends would have stirred up rebellion. They could have said that Aragorn was nothing but a cuckold that couldn't even inspire fidelity in his own spouse and that I was using him as a puppet to be the real power behind the throne. Or they could have spread rumors that their king was a tyrant, that he was trying to wipe away all remnants of the previous government so he could mold the realm into his own vision despite what everyone else wanted. If Cirion is allowed to maintain his position, he gets no such leverage and Aragorn can show the other advisors that he is both merciful and exacting at the same time."

"You were paying attention all those years in Mirkwood's court," noted Thranduil approvingly. "Is thatwhat you weredoing when you listened to all of those troubadours? Strange; I always imagined that you were thinking quite - _sarcastic_ - thoughts."

Ah, yes; the troubadours that flocked to Mirkwood with songs and poems about him. Legolas grimaced as he remembered rumors of his beauty spread around the elven world, making it so that he was coined the "Sun Star" and forced to listen to many flowery verses instead of spending his time at the archery field and generally enjoying life. "Neither assumption is totally without merit," he confessed. "I did much of both."

"Was that after you stopped trying to escape from that particular duty?" asked Gimli. "Your son told me a lot of tales during the Quest of the Ring, Thranduil; perhaps my favorite was the one when he was still a lad andsmashed berries in his hair so that it wouldn't be so 'sunny' anymore."

Thranduil groaned. "That was a nightmare to get out! An elf with red hair – he looked like," he paused, staring wide-eyed at the dwarf. "He looked a little like _you_."

Legolas had to laugh, happy that they were finally back to bantering about pleasant things. "That was only –" His voice broke off suddenly as a sharp pain came to his abdomen.

"Little Greenleaf?" asked Thranduil in alarm.

"Laddie?" asked Gimli at the same time, noting the white-knuckled grip he had on the edge of the table.

"It – it hurts," Legolas gasped out. He took several deep, ragged breathed but the pain only increased.

"What hurts?" cried Gimli, rising to his feet. "Are you in labor?"

Legolas let go of the table and wrapped his arms around his stomach. It wasn't labor, he knew. The baby seemed – seemed – _Oh, dear Eru_. He rolled off of the bench, landing hard on his knees on the stone floor before vomiting. "My baby," he choked out. "My baby's in trouble."

"_Ion nin!"_ screamed Thranduil, throwing himself down beside him as Legolas' body began to convulse.

Something was harming his son. Legolas cared nothing about what the pain was doing to him; he would endure even the tortures of Barad-dur if it meant saving his child, but at the moment his pain could also be the baby's pain and that scared him. Everything else around him sounded so far away, but he could still hear Gimli yelling for help and his ada's gentle whispers and soothing touch. Where was Aragorn? His agonized mind couldn't remember. As he fell into unconscious darkness, Legolas wished that his husband could be there to hold him.

To be continued…

_A/N: For those of you who haven't read the prequel to this story, What is Meant to Be, or those who don't remember, the story above about a young Legolas smashing berries into his hair in an attempt to discourage the troubadours is mentioned in chapter 15 of that story, near the end._

_This story now has over 300 reviews! Thank you so much!_


	18. To blame

It was a waking nightmare for Aragorn. One moment he'd been talking to Faramir about various political matters that he didn't feel comfortable discussing in front of the advisors' council and the next he was flying from the room, from the citadel, and all the way to the Houses of Healing. This was the second time in less than two months that he'd done such a thing, and under the exact same circumstances: Legolas was mysteriously ill and had lost consciousness before a healer could talk to him.

'_No,'_ he corrected himself silently as he raced up the stairs toward the area of the Houses that had been reserved for Legolas' care after they found out he was pregnant. _'The circumstances are not **exactly **the same.'_ The previous time, the supposed illness was really just symptoms of a most blessed occurrence and his husband had been discharged the same day. Aragorn knew that wouldn't happen that day.

Abdominal pains. Vomiting. Convulsions. Just thinking about Legolas enduring such things was like a knife to the Man's heart. What if the baby was in distress? Could all of those symptoms be signs that Legolas wouldn't be able to carry their son to term? For all he knew, the baby could already be dead…_oh Eru_. He let out a choked sob at the thought of losing the child that he and Legolas created together without even getting the chance to hold him…listen to his heartbeat…count all of his fingers and toes…even name him…

No! That didn't have to happen, even if the circumstances were as bad as he was imagining. Legolas was far enough along – nearing seven months at the very least and most likely more than that – so there was a chance that the baby could survive an early delivery. After all, he was of elven and Numenorian descent; if any infant could live through a premature birth, it would be their son. Perhaps a more relevant question would be whether or not his husband could survive it. The natural birth passage that the twins thought would appear had yet to form, meaning that if the baby had to be delivered that day they would have to cut him open. The healers, the same healers that were still rather unfamiliar with elven bodies, would have to perform that dangerous and potentially deadly procedure at a time when Legolas' healing capacity was diminished because of the pregnancy. What if he was forced to choose between Legolas' life and that of their son's? What if he chose the wrong one and lost both of them anyway?

'_Oh Elbereth, Valar, Eru – however may be listening – take pity on me!'_ he begged. _'I cannot lose either of them. Grief is not usually fatal to the race of Men, but I would not live through it if I did.'_

Thranduil and Gimli were already there when he finally reached his destination, sitting as still as if they were made of the same stone as the bench beneath them. Neither acknowledged his arrival and the implications of that nearly caused Aragorn to empty the contents of his stomach onto the floor. "What's going on?" he demanded, almost hysterical. "Is Legolas – is our baby – please tell me that they're going to be all right! They have to be well; they can't – " he stopped, struggling to compose himself. "I need to know the truth, be it good or ill. Tell me, what have the healers said?"

"We can't tell you anything like that, lad," replied Gimli grimly. "No one's said a single thing to us since we came here with him. There hasn't been enough time or clues to figure out exactly what brought all of this on."

"There was no warning," said Thranduil. The elven king, who – in his son-in-law's mind – was always in control of his emotions, sounded as if he shocked into a stupor. Aragorn doubted that he would so much as flinch if one of Mithrandir's old fireworks was set off right next to his ear. "We were just talking and eating and he was laughing about that day when he was just a little elfling, when he stained his hair red because he thought it would excuse him from court. He wanted to play and shoot his arrows, not listen to troubadours. And then – and then he was in pain. Why did I not let him play, Gimli? He was just a child; he did not need to hear all of those songs when he did not want to, but I made him do so. I am so sorry, ion nin, my most precious Little Greenleaf..."

"Now, now, there's no need for that, Thranduil," Gimli told him comfortingly, squeezing his hands as they began to tremble violently. "It was just a memory and one that brought him a lot of amusement at that. What happened back then didn't cause what happened today."

"I'm sorry to interrupt," spoke up Faramir from behind Aragorn, "but does anyone even have a guess at what _did_ bring all of this on? Perhaps we could help the healers in their task by figuring out a few explanations."

The king started, not having realized that Faramir had been following close on his heels ever since he rang out of their meeting mid-sentence. "What brings you here?" he asked though he was grateful for his calming presence no matter what the reason for it was.

Faramir flashed him a humorless smile. "Someone here must remain rational at all times," he said. "Since there's only the three of you here right now and the patient is Prince Legolas, I'm afraid that duty will have to fall on me. How I wish Mithrandir was here!"

"Or Ada," murmured Aragorn as Elrond's face flashed into his mind.

"Your husband needs us to be as strong for him as they would be, sire," Faramir said gently. "Now please concentrate, King Thranduil, master dwarf: was there no warning at all that something like this would happen? Perhaps something that might have appeared insignificant and unrelated at the time?"

"I cannot – I cannot –" said Thranduil, unable to focus on the question as the image of his child convulsing on the floor continued to flood his vision. Beside him, Gimli shook his head.

"What about pregnant males in the past?" pressed Faramir. "I was under the impression that this type of pregnancy makes the elf more susceptible to illness. Do you remember anyone else experiencing this, King Thranduil?"

Thranduil looked at him sharply. "From an elven standpoint, Legolas is in danger of becoming downright sickly" he said, his voice harsh and distraught at the same time, "but he still has more resistance to illness than Men do. This sort of occurrence is not normal for a elven male pregnancy."

"Nor for any other type!" interjected Gimli. "If this were happening to Eowyn, Rose Gamgee, or any other mortal woman no one would be even considering that it was normal. It's not natural to be talking about pleasant and unpleasant things and then just become violently ill without warning."

"Unpleasant things?" Faramir raised his eyebrows. Maybe Legolas' sudden illness was brought on by emotion. Wasn't grief one of the few things that would kill an elf? It didn't seem likely that the serene prince would get worked up enough to succumb so rapidly, but then again he never imagined him yelling and crying until he witnessed it himself in almost the very same place they were in at the moment. Right now wasn't the time to ignore possible explanations, no matter how implausible they seemed. "What about his emotional state? Was he upset about anything?"

"This is Legolas we're discussing," answered Gimli as he shifted somewhat uncomfortably in his seat. "He wouldn't want to bother us with such matters, especially when it was the first meal we were able to share together in weeks. Whatever may be bothering the laddie, I know he's more than able to handle it himself without driving himself to this state."

Aragorn didn't miss the small catch in his voice nor the way that the dwarf glanced quickly at Thranduil, who was staring at the Man with an unreadable expression on his face. "Nothing?" asked Aragorn pointedly, narrowing his eyes at his father-in-law. "No one said anything or did anything thoughtless that would upset Legolas while his emotions are so high and unpredictable?" By the Valar, if he somehow provoked this, he'd send him packing that instant!

Thranduil's eyes grew cold and even Faramir – son of Denethor, husband of the Witch-king slayer Eowyn; who'd faced orcs and ridden unflinching into certain death in Osgiliath – stepped back nervously, lest he get stuck standing between the two kings. "He was upset about something, even though he was trying not to show it," the elf stated icily through clenched teeth.

"And what would that be?" demanded a fierce Aragorn.

"The laddie can deal with this matter himself, Thranduil," said Gimli, though he had little hope that his words would soothe the enraged elf. "It's none of your business, or mine; and you know that it's not the reason why he's here."

No one was surprised when Thranduil ignored him. "_You_," he hissed, putting all of his fury into that one short word. "It was you, Aragorn; he was upset because of you."

"That's – that's not true," stammered Aragorn, faltering a bit under the elven king's accusations. "I wasn't there! How could I be the reason?"

"I do not wish to hear your denials or excuses!" Thranduil shouted angrily at him. "He is seven months pregnant and you are acting as if you were still that child in Rivendell. You are no longer little Estel, playing in the corner of Elrond's study while he conducts business! Why are you making my child worry about political maneuvering and potential revolts just because you refuse to handle your advisors' council in a manner befitting a king?"

The very breath caught in the back of Aragorn's throat. "You have no right to tell me how to manage my own court," he seethed, not noticing the way that Faramir looked away and down at the floor. "There are Men on that council who would like nothing more than see Legolas torn from my side. I cannot trust them."

"Of course you should not place unquestioning faith in their loyalty and wisdom," snapped Thranduil in a condescending tone. "However, there is no reason why you cannot use them to their fullest potential. Every moment you spend dealing with matters that could have easily been handled during one of those infernal meetings is another moment that you are not there to support and care for Legolas. He needs you by his side, Aragorn."

Aragorn felt his stomach clench as the truth of those words sunk in.

"I came here to – to be with him, but I – I cannot take your – your p-p-place in his life," Thranduil continued, finding it harder and harder to speak as his anger deflated and emotion choked him. "No matter what else I thought about you, I have believed since the day of your wedding that you loved him more than anything and that you would be a good husband; now you are proving me wrong on both counts. Oh, I cannot stand to even look at you now."

Silence overwhelmed the room after Thranduil ran out. "Don't take his words too much to heart," Gimli finally said sagely. "This has been difficult for him in so many ways. When Legolas – when he collapsed Thranduil threw himself to the ground next to him, skinning his knees, getting vomit on his clothing, and swallowing his fear as best he could so that he could comfort the laddie but he couldn't do anything to ease his pain or calm him down. Legolas only said one thing as he convulsed on that floor: he kept calling for you Aragorn. Not for Thranduil, me, or anyone else; just you. That was a painful blow to his father."

The king nodded numbly. "Go after him, please," he said softly. "Legolas will need him here if anything – when he wakes up."

Faramir put his hand on his back as Gimli exited out of the same doorway that Thranduil went through a few moments earlier. "This is all my fault," Aragorn whispered as his composure crumbling as the tears began to flow.

"Aragorn," crooned Faramir, unable to think of anything else to say.

"I told Legolas that I was going to be strong for him and then I put him through all of this," he sobbed, burying his face in his hands. "How could I fail my husband and son so utterly?"

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

It didn't take Gimli very long to find the elven king; being a wood elf, Thranduil would retreat outside to seek the comfort of nature while his fatherly instincts would keep him as close as possible to the Houses of Healing. The dwarf had only taken a few strides out the main doors before spotting his fried stilling on the ground just off of the stone-paved path that led to and from the building.

Neither spoke for a while after he sat down beside the still figure. "He didn't have to," said Gimli quietly.

"Pardon me?"

"Legolas," he elaborated. "You were already by his side and he knew it; he didn't have to waste his energy calling for you."

Thranduil choked back a sob. "There was nothing that I could do to help him, Gimli," he said, his voice never sounding so small before. "His body was wracked with spasms and he was in such pain and I could not make it better."

The last of his control shattered and Gimli embraced his friend to keep him from collapsing completely. "That laddie is stronger than you realize," the dwarf promised. "He stood before the Black Gates; do you really think that something like this will defeat him after enduring that?"

"I cannot do this," cried Thranduil brokenly. "I cannot lose both my son and my grandson! Is it not enough that I will one day have to bury Legolas? Please, I will do anything to make that day not be today."

Tears stung Gimli's eyes as he squeezed him closer. "Neither of them are going anywhere," he said. "Just you wait, my friend; in a few days Legolas will be well and back to teasing us and complaining about his – " he drew a sharp intake of breath – " about his _food_."

The elf's head snapped up. "His food," he gasped, gripping Gimli's arm. "Legolas said that his bread and honey tasked strange. Did you eat any?"

"Not the honey; I never liked that stuff."

"And I never acquired a taste for Man and hobbit food," replied Thranduil as his mind spun. "Do you think…"

"It wouldn't hurt to tell the healers about it," Gimli told him as they rose to their feet. "Nothing can be dismissed without consideration right now."

Distracted by their new insight and in a rush to get inside and share it with the healers, they failed to notice Gloin standing a little way down the path. He noticed them, though, watching and hearing everything as he glared, willing them - _daring_ them - to look his way. Scowling at their retreating backs, he stalked off in the opposite direction as he began formulating a new plan on how to handle Gimli's friendships with the elf that had wronged him and his spawn.

To be continued…


	19. Findings

_Legolas watched himself wander though a beautiful forest that resembled what he'd always dreamed that Mirkwood might look like had it not had to endure the ever-present threat of the Shadow for most of his life. 'Dream,' he realized hazily as he followed the other him down a path that weaved through the trees and brought them to Minas Tirith in a few short strides. 'This is a dream.' Or perhaps it was a vision – he'd always had a difficult time distinguishing between the dreams and feelings of everyday life and the prophetic visions that occasionally came to him. That didn't seem likely, but the notion that what he was watching at the moment was more than just his imagination was too powerful to ignore._

_The other Legolas, oblivious to his counterpart's musings, was moving through the streets at a strangely remarkable pace, searching. Had he lost something or was he the one that was lost? The latter made more sense to Legolas, for he was lost himself and didn't know the way to return to his family and friends, but the other was looking all around. He was missing…a child? A chill wind blew and told him that his guess was correct. It made him want to scream and cry in despair even though he couldn't quite remember why. 'I can help him,' he decided, and did indeed start to follow his other self down the streets toward a darker part of the city when he was stopped in his tracks by a most joyous sight. _

_A child! A child was running past them and in the opposite direction. Legolas couldn't see his face, only his long dark hair and distinctively pointed ears, but he was certain that this was the lost child that they were seeking. 'There he is!' he cried, or else he thought; it was hard to tell and it didn't matter anyway because the other Legolas didn't heed a word of it. As the child ran away, toward a light, his other self continued on his path, walking deeper into shadow._

_Legolas was torn for a second – he didn't want to abandon his counterpart to wandering in darkness all alone, but an overwhelming pain seized his body every time he thought of not following the child. If only the other elf could hear him and turn around! Knowing that the wind would only carry away any shout he was going to send to his other self, Legolas turned away from the shadows and began his journey on the same path that the child had taken. Almost immediately he felt an odd sensation on his forehead that was cool and comforting at the same time. It felt like contact, as if someone – a small someone, if the way that the sensation didn't quite cover all of his forehead was any indication – was touching him with his hand and trying to draw him in further toward his goal. He walked closer to his destination, to the hand, and most of all to the child, and the light seemed to expand and dissolve the world around him…_

As his vision came into focus the first thing he saw was the source of the light: the sun was shining through a window in his bedchamber. No, that wasn't right; the window was in the wrong place, or else his bed was. Had Aragorn moved their bed while he was asleep in it? That was an old trick that the twins used to play on him when he visited Rivendell, back when Elrond and Mithrandir were still in Middle-earth and they could still pretend that the dangers of the outside world not totally change their lives. What a peculiar thing for his husband to do now.

The hand against his forehead shifted to stroke the hair on the top of his head and Legolas moved his gaze to see to whom it belonged. He was surprised to see Pippin standing over him – what was he doing in the royal bedchamber? For his part, the hobbit smiled in relief when he realized that Legolas was awake and staring at him.

"Good morning!" Pippin greeted in a soft voice that struggled to be light and cheerful. "The one week we go out of the city and you wind up in here, huh? I guess all sorts of excitement happen around here once the hobbits go away."

"Pippin, is he awake?" Aragorn's voice came from somewhere just out of his line of vision. His face suddenly appeared beside of Pippin's and it looked as strained as his voice had sounded. "Mela nin, amin mela lle," he breathed tearfully. "How are you feeling?"

"I love you too, Aragorn," replied Legolas in a hoarse whisper. "Why did you move our bed? Did Elladan and Elrohir tell you about the pranks they used to pull like this? I liked it better where it was before; the sun shines right in my eyes when it's in this spot."

Aragorn moved swiftly to the other side of the bed, blocking the sunlight with his body. "I'll have someone move this to a better position immediately," he promised as he picked up the elf's hand, kissed his fingers, and pressed the palm against his bearded cheek. "But I don't want you thinking that I moved our bed to tease or torment you. We're not in our chambers in the citadel, my love."

"Then where" – began Legolas as he pushed himself into a sitting position. His voice cut off when he beheld the entire room for the first time since waking. "I'm in that awful room in the Houses of Healing," he groaned.

The three other beings in the room – Merry, Sam, and Eowyn – came forward and scattered until they were all standing around the bed. "Now I wouldn't be calling it awful, Mr. Legolas, begging your pardon," said Sam, his eyes twinkling as he lectured now that his worries had been partially lifted. "It appears to be a right nice place to stay if you have to be here."

"That's what makes it so terrible," responded Legolas dryly. His previous visits to that room had never called for him to stay overnight. They had, however, involved his body being poked and his knees apart and in the air while seemingly every healer in Gondor looked for the fabled birth opening to appear. "I hate being here."

"I can understand that," empathized Eowyn, remembering her restless feelings during her own lengthy stay after the Battle of Pelennor Fields. Merry nodded in agreement.

"Why am I here this time?" Legolas wondered aloud, rubbing his hands over his face. "I remember – pain. I was in a lot of pain."

"You became very ill while having lunch with Gimli and your father," Aragorn told him gently, though tension was present in his tone. "Do you remember anything else?"

Legolas forced his groggy mind to grasp at the puzzle pieces of memory that were floating around in his head and put them together. "We were talking about my wayward youth," he recalled. "Ada told Gimli that I looked like him after I smashed berries in my hair and turned it red."

Remembering fondly the night by the campfire that Legolas had told them that story, Pippin reached out and entwined a strand of the elf's golden hair around two fingers.

"I was laughing," continued Legolas, smiling at the little hobbit's nostalgic gesture, "and starting to tell him that back then I would have preferred to be a dwarf some days when" – panic swelled within him as the full force of the memory slammed into his mind – "when all of the sudden my stomach – I've never been in more physical pain before."

He grabbed his stomach but was only somewhat comforted when he felt that the hard swollen bulge was still there. "The baby! Ai Elbereth, is our son all right, Aragorn?"

"The healers have felt his movements, as have I," Aragorn informed him, "so we at least know that he still lives. What we don't know and do not dare to guess is if all of this came about because something was the matter with him or if this illness has affected his well being in any way. You're the only one with the ability to find that out. Tell me, please; what does our child tell you?"

Legolas closed his eyes, concentrating all of his thought and energy on connecting with the baby while listening for one distinct sound. He nearly wept for joy when he heard it. "I can hear his heart beating fast and strong," he declared. Aragorn let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and the tension in his face and frame visibly drained away. "He tells me that he is well, my love. I can't say that he's entirely happy that he had to endure so much, but he'll be fine."

"That's fantastic!" gasped Pippin, overjoyed. "You don't know how worried we've all been about you! Aragorn's been with you since almost the minute that you came here and we headed straight for this room this morning" –

"Morning?" interrupted Legolas.

"You slept through the afternoon and all night," explained Eowyn. "But that was to be expected considering all that you went through. Your father kept repeating that your body was just taking a little time to recover; I think he was trying to convince himself of that more than us. I've never seen him so emotional."

"Where is my father? And Gimli too, for that matter?" Being familiar with their overprotective natures, it didn't seem natural that they weren't there to hover over him. Legolas shuddered as he thought that perhaps whatever illness had befallen him had also affected them but then dismissed it as irrational.

"They've been with the healers for several hours now," answered Aragorn; "for almost as long as you've been here, in fact."

Maybe that thought hadn't been so irrational after all. "Not because of any need on their part," amended Aragorn quickly when he saw the look on his husband's face. "They've been discussing your condition with them, trying to tell them everything they remembered so that the healers will be able to figure out exactly what brought this illness on."

"I'll go with them," Merry volunteered. "King Thranduil and Gimli wouldn't be too happy if we waited much longer to tell them that you're awake. I'll bet the healers want to talk to you too."

Legolas sighed as the hobbit sprinted out of the room. "I must be running those healers ragged," he said. "What a way to learn all about elf bodies and male pregnancies! I wish Elladan and Elrohir were here to handle all of this."

"You'll get your wish soon enough," said Aragorn wryly. "I've already sent out an errand runner to Rivendell with a message that basically says: _"Stop procrastinating and get your lazy behinds back to Minas Tirith with your answers or your books, or both."_

"Aragorn!"

"They'll find it amusing," protested the Man, smiling under his husband's scold. In truth he hadn't written it that way to be funny but because he was wracked with fear. The twins would be able to see that and they would understand the urgency of the summons. "It was necessary too. The healers of Gondor are gifted and well-trained, of course, but this is beyond their skill right now. I'll be most relieved when you are back in the care of my brothers."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Aragorn's stomach sank a bit when Thranduil, Gimli, the healing woman Ioreth, and the warden of the Houses filed into the room behind Merry. The expressions on their faces were grim; with Gimli's drained of all color and Thranduil's slightly green. Obviously they at least had a guess as to what the cause of Legolas' mysterious illness might be and it was something unsettling. The king himself didn't have a clue what it was – Thranduil and Gimli had rushed right past him on their way to see the healers the previous day with only a shout that they had remembered something that could have been important. Wanting to remain as close to Legolas as possible and not wanting to hinder anything that could help him and the baby, Aragorn hadn't stopped or pursued them to find out more. He unconsciously pulled his husband closer.

Despite his current emotional state, Thranduil managed to smile when he witnessed for himself that his son was awake and alert. "My Little Greenleaf," he cried out in relief as he rushed to Legolas' side. Aragorn let go so that the two elves could embrace. "I was so concerned for you and my little grandson. I swear that this will not happen again as long as I have life in my body."

"Ada," groaned Legolas in an exaggerated long-suffering tone. How very like his father to believe that he could protect him from becoming ill. "I don't think that any of us have any say in the matter of my health. I'm pregnant! All of this probably happened for some silly reason, such as my body overreacting to not having all of my healing capacity or that I'm somehow overexerting myself. Although I don't see what I'm doing too much of these days unless it's sleeping or breathing…"

"That's not quite what happened, from what we've gathered," Gimli spoke up as he walked forward to stand beside the elven king. Placing a firm hand on Legolas' arm he added, "It's good to see you well again and we're going to make sure that you stay that way."

"Not you too, my friend! Of course I'm going to continue to be healthy," argued Legolas, his wavering voice at odds with his brashly unconcerned words. It _sounded _as if the healers had determined that his illness had passed, but he was growing progressively fearful. What exactly were his father and Gimli implying? "The baby is fine. I can hear his heartbeat, feel him moving, and sense his life. I'm better too..."

Aragorn swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat when he heard Legolas' voice trail off. He berated himself for his selfishness; would he always act like a child when it mattered most, thinking only of what he wanted and not what was best for others? As a healer he should have realized that Legolas needed rest and not a room full of people to exhaust him by making him put on a brave act! "Are you feeling unwell, my love?" he asked tensely. "Would you like some of us to leave, or all of us? Do you need something? Name anything and I'll make sure that you get it."

"A generous offer, but a little grand under the circumstances," smiled Legolas as he turned toward Aragorn and squeezed his hands reassuringly. "The only things that plague me now are a sore throat and feeling a little lightheaded, but a pitcher of water and a little food should take care of that."

The warden of the Houses cleared his throat as Ioreth's face blanched, Gimli bit his lip, and Thranduil ran a slender hand over his son's hair. "My king, my prince," said the warden hesitantly.

"What is it?" asked Aragorn, his nerves overwhelmed and frazzled. He tightened his grip on the elf's hands. "It was the food wasn't it? There are some foods that his body cannot handle in his current condition." _Please let it be as simple as that! _"That's easily remedied, don't you agree mela?"

The baby kicked and Legolas recalled the pain and fear he'd experienced the previous day. How could just eating something put them both in so much distress? He'd only had a bit of fruit, water, and – "It was the honey," he whispered. Thranduil nodded in confirmation. "But it's not just a matter of avoiding it, is it?"

"Are you familiar with the irila plant?" questioned Ioreth.

No one answered right away, due more to their pondering as to the reason behind the question rather than their lack of knowledge on what she spoke of. "It's a flower," Sam finally answered for everyone. "There are a lot of them in my garden, and in some of the ones around here too. Right pretty they are when they bloom."

"Do you know what it tastes like?"

"I've heard that its flavor is – sickeningly sweet," said Legolas. His heart twisted at the memory of the honey's unusual taste, for now he understood. "But I've never actually tried one before. There is an old wives' tale that it's – it's deadly to eat."

The warden closed his eyes briefly at the sound of the sharp intake of Aragorn's breath. "As we've learned in the past few years, the old wives have a tendency to remember what needs to be remembered when everyone else has forgotten," he stated. "We cannot say it for an absolute certainty, but the description of your symptoms, the illness' sudden and violent onset, and our own examinations tell us that this is most likely. We are forced to conclude that you were poisoned with the irila flower."

To be continued…

_A/N: The irila flower is something I totally pulled out of my butt (where I tend to keep most of my ideas) because I couldn't find a poisonous plant in nature or in Tolkien's work that would do all that I want it to do. I admit that I didn't look terribly hard, but I did try._

_There have been some guesses and questions out there about who exactly is responsible for the poisoning. I love hearing all of them and only want to remind you that no one's been officially named yet (though I **do** have a culprit all picked out), so anything's possible…. :)_


	20. Child and adult

For one brief moment everyone in the room fell absolutely silent. Legolas could hear each one of their heartbeats – the healers, his dear friends, his father, and his husband. The strangely ominous thudding was soon accompanied by Aragorn's harsh breathing sounding very close to his ear. The elf knew that the rasping intake of air was a sign that the Man's emotions were intense and that being in such a state only further hindered his ability to voice the numerous thoughts and questions that were shouting in his mind. This was far from the first time he felt that way – Legolas could still keenly remember the moments that followed after he had told him that he was now mortal – and it was usually at that point when the prince sought to comfort and calm him. He couldn't do what he normally did, though, as his own mind was reeling from the news.

_Poisoned. _The warden of the Houses of Healing had just told him that he had been poisoned. He had ingested some kind of poisonous substance. Legolas clutched the bulge in his stomach as an irrational burst of guilt flooded his mind. That poison had not only attacked his body, but also the very existence and well being of his unborn child. _'How many times must I fail at being a father before my child is even born?'_ he wondered miserably as he splayed his fingers to cover the entire expanse of his stomach from view. _'Even when I try, I cannot nourish him properly! I forced – **forced** – my own helpless little son to endure a deadly toxin.'_

Thranduil was watching him carefully, from the way he tried to shield his stomach from a world that was even crueler than he imagined to the devastated look in his eyes even when the rest of his face remained eerily passive. He could easily guess what was going on in his son's mind and was not about to stand for it. "My Little Greenleaf," he said insistently, placing his hand on Legolas' chin and gently urging him to look his way. "This is _not_ your doing. Someone else tried to harm you and your son, but both of you survived and are well because you are strong. Do you understand me, ion nin? _You _are the reason that your son is alive. You bear none of the responsibility for his jeopardy."

Aragorn sifted through all of the questions and comments in his mind, seeking out one that would be most relevant. "How – how have you come to this determination?" he croaked out. He told himself that it was a helpful question; it would allow the healers to go through the diagnosis process again to get a clearer idea about what had really happened. And that was the crux of it: Aragorn wanted them to come up with another reason why Legolas had become so ill so quickly. The last thing he wanted was to believe that anyone would be capable of poisoning the being he'd loved for 71 years.

"You know next to nothing about elven health and no one has enough knowledge on how pregnancy can affect a male's body!" he continued. "What if there is a natural cause for all of this and you're passing it over because you just don't know about it? I won't have the lives of my husband and son threatened by calling this a pois-pois – what you're calling it and letting a potentially serious illness go untreated."

The warden's expression grew incredulous but Ioreth's was only softened even more by concern and compassion. "We're only saying this because we can't find another explanation," she said carefully. "I for one would be more than happy to find out that we were wrong. King Thranduil, you've been around pregnant male elves before; can you remember any of them going through something like what the prince has?"

"Never," declared the elven king grimly.

"Sire, you are skilled in the art of elvish healing," she went on, turning to Aragorn. "Can you recall any affliction that would bring on all of that pain and sickness?"

Aragorn's mouth went dry as the only thing that came to mind was the hated word _poisoning_. "No."

"Because there is no other explanation, no matter how badly we all wish that it were not so," added Thranduil, sending a disapproving frown in his son-in-law's direction. Aragorn ducked his head briefly as he realized how very much he was acting like that child in Rivendell again.

"Perhaps the king would feel more confident in your diagnosis if you told us exactly why you believe that poison from the irila flower is the reason for Legolas' illness and how you came to such a conclusion," suggested Eowyn.

"Of course, my lady," nodded the warden. "As you know, the Lords Elladan and Elrohir did not leave the city without first instructing us in some basic knowledge of elven bodies and I believe we have learned even more in the last month or so. However, we'd exhausted all of what we knew without coming across an answer that seemed even plausible and almost gave up hope that we would be able to understand this at all without the lords' presence. Thankfully, King Thranduil and Lord Gimli recalled that the prince had noted that the honey he'd eaten yesterday had a rather odd taste, but they could only describe what he'd mentioned because they had not had any of it themselves."

"Too sweet," interjected Gimli. "He said it was too sweet."

"Sickeningly sweet," remembered Legolas in a faint voice. He shuddered a bit at how appropriate that description had truly been.

"There are some poisons that are tasteless, making it difficult to figure out when an illness is caused by their ingestion or not; but others do alter the taste of the food that they've been mixed in with," continued the warden. "The king and lord were gracious enough to assist the healing women, the other healers, and I in pouring through all of the herb books that we could find, disallowing those that didn't fit in some way until we were left with one that is readily available and causes the symptoms that the prince experienced. That poison is the essence of the irila flower."

Legolas shook his head and squeezed his eyes open and shut a few times. Perhaps the muffled feeling in his mind was affecting his ability to understand the situation properly. It was already making the world around him blur. "I can't – I can't – I don't believe that I'm quite making sense of this," he asserted softly. "The vomiting and pain came only a few minutes after I ate the honey. How could the poison affect me so rapidly? On top of that, I wasn't able to keep it down long enough for it to cause any serious damage. Why would someone choose to use a poison that wouldn't be tolerated by the body?"

"We were most fortunate indeed that your body rejected the substance before it could harm you or your child in a permanent way," the warden said. He paused briefly as he pondered just how much of the probable explanation he should offer freely. "Some of the credit must go to you, Prince Legolas, for I believe that, as an elf, your body was able to deal more efficiently with such an attack on your health. The nature of the irila also plays a part in it. I suspect it was chosen more for its convenience than for ease of use or effectiveness."

"Maybe whoever did this wasn't trying to kill him," blurted out Pippin hopefully. "They might have just wanted to…they could have been…of, I don't know…." His voice trailed off and Merry put his arms around him.

"You misunderstand, Master Took; my statement had nothing to do with the potency of the irila's poison," elaborated the warden. "I merely meant that, as Master Gamgee stated, the flower is quite lovely and therefore was selected for many of the new gardens in Minas Tirith. It is very easy to obtain without having to purchase it from someone, but it is difficult to mix and dole out the required dosage. When brewed improperly, the final potion would bring on symptoms identical to that of the prince's while being vile enough that the body purges it before the toxin can take hold."

The Man was withholding something. Aragorn could tell from his tone and rigid body language that there was more to it than that. He was _not_ going to tolerate the warden taking such discretions when the matter was as important as Legolas' and the baby's health. "What else?" he demanded, his voice deliberately paced and just as deadly as any poison. "You are hiding something and I can promise you that if you continue to do so, you'll regret it."

Gulping nervously, the warden went on. "The body of any being will naturally reject what should not be in there, especially when the invading substance reacts violently with its normal functions. Such a process is generally expedited as a larger quantity of it is introduced into someone's system."

"Don't say twenty words when five will do," ordered Aragorn darkly, holding Legolas tightly as the elf closed his eyes to hide his fearful and anguished reaction. "And don't bother trying to hide the truth in long words. I can still understand what you mean, but it makes me think that you've got a reason for not wanting me to."

Pippin tentatively raised his hand. "Excuse me," he said apologetically as his eyes darted from one pale and shaken face to the next. "I – I didn't really understand all of that."

"It's all quite simple, Pippin," replied Legolas his voice trembling as his face remained stoic. "He just said that whoever tried to kill me and my son might have only failed because they gave me _too much_ poison."

"Laddie," Gimli began, groping for the magic words that would be able to comfort the elf that he'd come to regard as his son.

"It's all right, Gimli. In fact, it's really very funny." Legolas let out a choked laugh that was more than a little hysterical. Merry, Pippin, Sam, Eowyn, and the healers inched closer to the bed while Aragorn, Thranduil, and Gimli all hovered even closer to the prince. All were fearful that the emotional shock of the situation had become more than he could handle. "It truly is. This person hated us both with such a passion that he actually put _too much poison_ into my food and ended up saving our lives. I wonder if he'd be able to appreciate the irony of it all as much as I do. I mean, how many people can say that their assassin saved them?"

He sucked in one deep breath as the last of the strength that was holding his body upright gave way and his eyes rolled back. Legolas would have crashed down into the mattress were in not for the supportive arms of his husband and father. "Mela!" cried Aragorn. _'It's just the shock,'_ he told himself firmly though a part of his mind screamed that the poison might have worked better than anyone thought.

"I'm so dizzy," groaned Legolas weakly. "Why can't I hold my head up when it feels so light?"

Aragorn moved Legolas' head so that he could look him in the eyes. "Stay with me, my love, my life," he urged before yelling at the healers: "Do something!"

"He'll be all right, my king! He just needs a little food and water," cried Ioreth as she scrambled out of the door. "I fetch something for him right away."

"No!" Legolas shouted after her, but she was already gone.

"No?" repeated the warden, his tone as grave as his expression. "You cannot refuse nourishment after going without for so long. If you aren't willing to eat for your own good, at least do so for the baby –"

"Stop it!" screamed Legolas as everything that he was feeling finally spilled over. "Stop it, stop it, stop it, _stop it!_ I can't do this anymore! First you tell me to eat more because I'm hurting my baby when I don't. I do what you say and I ended up hurting him because of it. What do I do, Aragorn? _What in the name of Elbereth am I supposed to do?_ Will it be better for him to starve to death or be poisoned? All I wanted was for him to be healthy but I can't even provide him a place where that is possible. I'm sorry, my son." He fell forward and again Aragorn's arms supported him. "I'm so sorry, my love."

If ever there was time that he needed to be strong for his husband, this was it. Aragorn didn't hesitate, didn't show how afraid he was at seeing Legolas in such a state, as he held the elf in a firm embrace. Legolas melted against him as he cried, clinging to his clothing as if he thought someone was going to try to force one of them away. Then and there Aragorn resolved to leave the child he had been where he belonged – in the past. Those juvenile traits were all well and good for happy, private occasions with his loved ones but had no place in that room now. Legolas and their child were depending on the Man – the adult – that the prince had fallen in love with.

"You are going to be able to eat. I'm going to make it safe for you to eat," he declared and no one who heard his words doubted him for a second. "If I have to make every morsel of food from scratch myself I'll do it."

"I don't think it'll have to come to that."

All eyes turned to Sam, who'd been standing quietly up to that point, contemplating how truly horrible someone would have to be to try to hurt an elf, and in such a sneaky and disgraceful way at that. "You said it yourself, King Thranduil, when we went to see you in Ithilien before coming to Minas Tirith: hobbit food's good for Legolas and I don't think that's been any more true than it is now. I'd be happy to cook for him now, if you're willing, Mr. Legolas."

"That is very generous of you, Master Gamgee," said Thranduil. "Truly a gesture worthy of a Baggins and for me there exists no higher praise for a hobbit."

"It certainly is," Aragorn agreed. "Normally, I wouldn't ask such an honored guest to take on this amount of work…"

"And you didn't. I said I'd cook for him and I will," reiterated Sam with determination. His eyes hardened and Aragorn suddenly remembered that sweet, simple gardener Sam was also the hobbit who'd defeated Shelob, entered Cirith Ungol alone, fought with Gollum, and walked through Mordor to the Crack of Doom to help a friend. "And I won't let _nobody_ do nothing to it neither."

"Thank you Sam," hiccupped Legolas. "I – I think I'd feel better knowing that you made it."

Sam nodded in acknowledgement and took off out the door to catch up with Ioreth before she returned to the room with a food-laden tray. "Thank Elbereth for him," breathed Aragorn. "Can you think of anything else you need, my love?"

"Yes. I need to know who did this to us," Legolas replied and frowned petulantly as the others exchanged meaningful looks. "Oh for the Valar's sake, am I not allowed a moment of weakness without being treated by an invalid? I admit I'm afraid, but that's why I have to know."

Merry shifted uncomfortably. "It's not that we don't think you can handle it," he said. "I for one just can't think of anyone that could, well, hate you enough to pull something like this."

"Spoken like a true hobbit," commented Thranduil dryly. "My guess is that this person's motives involved nothing as simple as liking or hating. You, my Little Greenleaf, are the king's husband and bear his heir. This whole affair reeks of a political assassination."

'_And political maneuvering this horrible, convoluted, and underhanded would naturally lead to…'_ Aragorn grimaced. "Eowyn, where is your husband?"

"At a meeting with the delegation from the Lonely Mountain," she answered. A look of confusion crossed the king's face, only to give way to one of frustrated realization the next moment. "He understood why you forgot," she explained, "and only wanted to help in whatever way he could."

"I swear, Faramir is worth more than all the mithril in the world," said Aragorn, rubbing his forehead. "Let's see; that meeting was supposed to end – about five minutes from now. Legolas, will you mind if I leave you for a brief time?"

"I think I'll manage," replied Legolas wryly, sounding exhausted.

"I won't leave his side," Thranduil interjected.

Legolas cast his father an understanding smile. "What are you planning to do?" he asked Aragorn.

"I need to send out some messengers to all the advisors," he answered in an eerily calm manner. "By that time the meeting will have concluded and Faramir will be available to help me prepare for their arrival. Then we're going to have a _meeting."_

His voiced sounded too much like the one he used when he was about to fight orcs and it did nothing to calm Legolas' nerves. "Please mela; I know what you're thinking but don't do anything rash until we have more than suspicions."

Aragorn held back every dark emotion he was feeling. "I swear on our love that I won't," he promised. "I only intend to handle them in a manner befitting a king. Who else would know more about political intrigues than the advisors' council?"

He squeezed his husband one last time, kissing his temple before rising to his feet. The quiet hostility between him and the council had been annoying at best, but he'd tolerated it if only for the sake of his people's peace of mind. That couldn't happen anymore. For better or worse, the council was the way to find the assassin before he could strike again. Aragorn was certain that whoever was behind this poison plot was one of them, and he had an inkling of just who that was.

To be continued…


	21. A breakthrough in relations

_A/N: I realized the night after I posted the previous chapter that I messed something up. When I said that Aragorn had loved Legolas for 71 year, I really meant 81. I shall blame it on my new class taking up all of my math skills because it's easier to do that than admit that it was a case of pure sloppiness._

Another day, another battle of wills with King Elessar over what information should be considered private and what the advisors' council needed to know in order to ensure the continued political stability of Gondor. Eärnil glanced across the desk where Belecthor sat writing and sighed. He often wished that he possessed his colleague's patience when it came to their dealings with the king. On the other hand, Belecthor didn't have an unmarried daughter and therefore hadn't been faced with the situation of still coping with the fresh disappointment that the realm's new monarch was already spoken for before having to congratulate the happy couple on their nuptials. Eärnil thought back on that moment – forced smile, insincere sentiments, and a stiff bow – and knew that the king thought about that too every time he saw him.

The irony of the whole circumstance was that Eärnil never resented or disliked Prince Legolas as an individual. His feeling at the time were solely influenced by what the missed opportunity that their marriage meant for his daughter. The prince had been a stranger then and now he could see that no other being in Middle-earth could be a better match for Gondor's king than the elf. Adding to his frustrations was the fact that Prince Legolas seemed to understand and accept all of that but King Elessar clung to his long memory. It was clear that the king had an inherent distrust for his political advisors and kept an even further distance from the ones that had displayed a less-than-sincere welcome for his husband.

Belecthor heard his noisy exhale and looked over. "What troubles you, my friend?" he asked. "Is it a new problem or the same old one that weighs heavy on us all?"

"Same old, I'm afraid," replied Eärnil wryly. "How King Elessar regards us all with contempt and how it affects our ability to assist him in the efficient ruling of Gondor. The time is coming soon that he will not be able to deal with all of the political details, not even with Lord Faramir's help. Will our people suffer then, or his family?"

"Hopefully neither," said Belecthor.

"I keep remember the reception that followed the coronation and marriage," Eärnil continued. "The way I spoke to the king and prince, how I reacted to the whole affair! Why did I let myself believe that my daughter had some sort of right to be considered by the king as a potential spouse? There are so many things I would do differently if only I could have that evening back."

"Ah, but you cannot," Belecthor told him sagely. "There's no use in reliving your life through memory and altering it at the points you aren't proud of. How the king regards us now probably has less to do with that first greeting as you believe – I heard tell from the hobbits that there was a time when he didn't make an impressive first impression himself. Beside, I was there too, as you may recall, and I remember nothing openly hostile in your tone or body language."

"Still –"

"He does not trust me either," he interrupted with a friendly reminder, "and I was elated to have a member of the Eldar race marry into the monarchy and did nothing to hide it. No, I believe there is another more prevalent reason for King Elessar's hesitation to trust the council."

Eärnil was not placated. "What else could it be?"

"His upbringing," answered the other advisor. "The rule of Rivendell, I've gathered, was decidedly less formal and his foster father's advisors were also the king and his brothers' tutors. That could explain much of his attitude now. Perhaps we were too rigid in our ways and he resented feeling forced into such a formal court life. That's why you and I are here now," he added, gesturing to the piece of parchment before him, "to attempt to meet him halfway."

Concerns among the advisors had finally peaked the previous afternoon when rumors reached their ears about Prince Legolas' mysteriously deteriorating health. That the king had not contacted them himself was a bit upsetting but still understandable considering the sudden and unexpected nature of the situation. Undeterred by the lack of official notification, several of them had immediately rushed to the Houses of Healing only to have some guard bar their entrance. Oh, he told them news: yes, Prince Legolas was there. Yes, he was unconscious. Yes, the rumors were true; he'd suffered from spasms, vomiting, and abdominal pains. Yes, the baby was still alive as far as anyone could tell – they at least had no evidence otherwise. Yes, the king was inside and would be for the foreseeable future. No, they were not permitted to enter and King Elessar had no intention of coming out to see them. In fact, it would be most appreciated if they would leave immediately since they were blocking the way in and out of the Houses and might end up hindering movements that were critical to the prince and the child's survival.

As they stood dumbly after the door had been shut in their faces, the gravity of their situation began to sink in. Trying to break the gloomy spell, one of them had joked that they should be grateful for gossip – without it they would know about as much about Gondor's monarchs as peasants of other realms did. No one laughed though, for they all knew just how true that sentiment was becoming. What was going to happen to them? Most relied on Prince Legolas' understanding of formal court functions for the existence of the council under King Elessar, but soon – hopefully – he'd be preoccupied with the upbringing of Gondor's heir. They couldn't depend on his silent support for much longer; they needed to figure out a way to work with the king.

That had led to an animated discussion as to how that could be accomplished. Just talking to him seemed to be of little use, as none of them could say the correct thing when it counted and King Elessar was wary of words that came from their mouths. It was Belecthor who suggested writing a letter stating their concern and support not only for him but for his family as well; and a request for instructions on how they could be of service. Not only would it be less intrusive on their part but also it would allow King Elessar to control the situation while perhaps even breaking the tension between the two forces. So Belecthor and Eärnil were given the task, meeting that next day in Belecthor's study after breakfast.

They were just debating over just how aggressive and eager they would sound when they wrote that they "awaited his orders" – should they worry more about coming across as indifferent or opportunistic? – when a knock came to the door. "Enter!" called Belecthor automatically. The door creaked open a crack and his wife's head emerged. "My dear? Can this not wait?"

"I am sorry, my husband," she apologized, her eyes darting briefly down to the side obscured by the door, "but I'm afraid that it cannot."

The door swung open the entire way to reveal Bergil, a teenage boy and all-purpose errand runner for the king. "Good morning Lord Belecthor, Lord Eärnil," he said politely as he hastily bowed. "I came with a message for you, sir" – he nodded to Belecthor before turning to Eärnil –"but I suppose it's to be heard by you as well. The King Elessar calls for all the members of the advisors' council to meet."

"That's –"Eärnil began to let out a cry of relief when the grim look on Bergil's face caused the word _wonderful_ to die on his lips. It was too much to hope for that King Elessar just happened to have the exact same thought has they did and decided to reach out to his advisors. The fact of the matter was that he had _never_ called a council meeting before; he didn't like attending the scheduled ones as it was. Whatever may have caused such an action now most likely couldn't be described as wonderful.

Belecthor was having a similar thought. "What has happened?" he asked the boy. "Is there any more news about the prince and the baby?"

"I'm sorry sir but I do not know for certain," replied Bergil.

The two advisors exchanged a tense glance. "We should heed the king's command," said Eärnil urgently. "You go ahead; I'll follow as soon as I let my family know that I will not be able to make it home for lunch."

"No," Bergil told him.

Eärnil raised his eyebrows, surprised by his bold impertinence. "Excuse me?"

The boy straightened his back and looked him squarely in the eye. "My orders come from the king himself and he says to come immediately. No stops, no brief meetings with others or among yourselves until you've all gathered." His jaw tightened a little, as if he suddenly remembered who he was talking to in such an authoritative manner. "I'll get a message to whoever you need after I'm done with this, but that's all I can do. You are to make your way straight to the meeting hall _now_.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

The room was abuzz with anxious murmuring as the advisors sat around that long table waiting for King Elessar and Faramir to arrive. Each one of them had received the same abrupt, cold summons from various errand runners and none knew the reason behind it. Why did the king decide now that he needed to consult them about something? Discussing their different speculations gave them no more insights as to what the answer might be.

"Perhaps…perhaps the prince miscarried," Turgon suggested, though his face turned gray at the thought.

"No," disputed Tanondor softly. "If that were the case, then nothing less than a direct attack from the Enemy would be able to pry the king from Prince Legolas' side. The poor prince would be crushed! We've all seen how happy he is to be bearing this child; how he just glows when he rests his hands on his stomach…"

"You don't think that the prince has taken a turn for the worse," asked Eärnil. "That would be horrible!"

"If such an event did occur, King Elessar would be inconsolable," Belecthor pointed out. "Lord Faramir might think to call a meeting but we'd be the last thing on the king's mind."

Sitting in the midst of everything and yet still ignored, Cirion snorted loudly. When no one would respond he declared, "Or else King Elessar would finally be free of the elf's spell."

Even those words failed to evoke a response and his irritation at the whole indignity grew. Perhaps plainer language was called for. "I for one wouldn't be sorry in the least if our kingdom was finally rid of that uppity elf. It would be nice if we could finally have a proper queen."

Eärnil was on his feet in an instant. "Do you ever keep your mouth shut?" he hissed venomously in Cirion's direction. This was absurd! The prince consort and unborn heir to the throne were in jeopardy, the king obviously had _something_ important to say and it probably wasn't good, and yet Cirion was still rattling on about his daughter. A proper queen indeed! That meek girl wouldn't be able to handle being married to their stubborn king for five minutes. It was all he could do not to leap across the table and throttle his former ally once and for all.

"I agree," sounded the king's cold voice from the entryway. The advisors immediately fell silent as an air of heaviness overwhelmed the room. They watched anxiously as the king and steward entered but Aragorn said nothing more as he moved to his usual place. Let them worry for a few minutes! Hadn't he just endured hours of such a feeling because of them? He only wished that he'd come in sooner, before Cirion's condemning words. They must have been discussing their plot against his family; had Eärnil not seen him and warned Cirion to be silent he might have gathered enough proof to finally rid himself of them for good.

Once he was in position Aragorn still didn't sit. He just stood before them at the head of the table and turned his hard glare to each advisor in turn. The anticipation and suffocating silence was becoming unbearable. "Sire, we are most grieved by the illness that has befallen Prince Legolas," Belecthor told him. "I believe I speak for all of us when I say that we are sure that his recovery will be swift and complete. How does he fare now?"

"My husband and son are going to be fine," said Aragorn steadily, a hint of anger adding an edge to his words.

"That is most wonderful indeed!" declared Belecthor, getting a little nervous at the king's behavior. He was used to the sulking and resentful ruler, not this icy and furious Man before him.

"Do you really think so?" replied Aragorn snidely. He was not going to be forced into sorting through their courtly political demeanors and true feelings that day, not when he would just expose the lot of them and return to Legolas' side with the news that he was now safe.

"Of – of course," stammered the advisor under the king's glower while his colleagues stirred uneasily in their seats. "Who would not find such joyful tidings a pleasure to hear?"

"Oh, I don't know." Aragorn tapped his finger against his cheek, pretending to ponder the question. "The people who poisoned his food in the first place, I suppose."

A collective gasp came from around the table. "Poisoned?" repeated Eärnil, stunned. "How could something like that have happened? Why would anyone do such an awful thing?"

"That's why I summoned all of you," seethed Aragorn as all of this fury boiled over. "The love of my life and our unborn child – the miracle that our love brought into being – were poisoned by the irila flower. No one in Middle-earth would benefit if they died, but I can think of a roomful of people who might believe otherwise. Maybe you should be answering those questions yourself, Lord Eärnil."

This couldn't be happening. After all the planning to meet him halfway, the king wasn't even interested in entertaining the notion that they _wouldn't_ try to kill the prince. His stomach churned at the thought of Prince Legolas dying and leaving them alone with him and something inside snapped. "What is wrong with you!" shrieked Eärnil as he jumped to his feet.

"Eärnil!" Belecthor tugged at his friend's arm, hoping to subdue him long enough to come up with an excuse for his outburst. If ever there was a time that King Elessar wouldn't respond well to a torrent of damned-up emotions, it was now.

Eärnil ignored him. "No one here thinks that way except for a madman who spends too much time in his own little world and not enough in the real world," he went on. Cirion let out a squawk of protest at the brutally honest assessment. "I'm sorry that I wasn't as enthusiastic as I should have been about your marriage four years ago, but can't you let that rest? Now I'm glad that you married Prince Legolas and not my daughter because, quite frankly, no one else in the world would put up with your childish behavior. As things stand at the moment, I'd never want to see the prince dead because I like dealing with him far more than dealing with you. At least he's a mature politician and adult rather than a spoiled brat!"

There. It was said and he wouldn't beg to take it back no matter how much he gaping colleagues wished he would. The king was staring at him as if he'd never seen him before. "That just might be the first thing any of you have ever said that I can believe," Aragorn noted with amazement.

"We must apologize for his breach of etiquette, sire!" cried Turgon anxiously, misinterpreting his comment. "It was insulting, out of line, inexcusable – "

"It was honest," interrupted Aragorn thoughtfully. "Straightforward and to-the-point. No padding or softening sentences like you think I'm an unstable five-year-old who'll snap if I don't get my way. I can respect that, at least."

"But he –"

"My father-in-law has told something similar on several occasions. He may not like me, but I can always count on him to tell the truth without feeling the need to fawn like a jackass."

"We – we never _fawned_ or anything like that," said Eärnil, trying to find his footing in this surreal exchange. They had spent all of that time being careful and courteous and the king responded more kindly being insulted? "Well maybe we did, but that's the way we've always had to conduct business. The Lord Denethor" – he glanced quickly at Faramir, who bit his lip but showed now emotion – "it was vital to tell him things in a certain manner and he appreciated it."

"But I don't," replied Aragorn. "In my father's household in Rivendell all that mattered was a simple and honest answer since he knew when someone was being untruthful anyway. And his advisors told it to him too; from _'if you continue to do this, our land will fall'_ to _'your children are orcs from Mordor and your youngest just spit food in my hair again.'_ There was no place for flowery words and undue flattery when I led the Dunedain rangers either. I never liked such things; I'm not Denethor."

"No, you're Thorongil," smiled Faramir and some of the advisors' eyes lit up in recognition at the name.

"I remember you," said Belecthor as he stared with amazement. "That was such a long time ago, but when I was a boy I watched my father sail with the small fleet under your command to attack Umbar. He held you in high regard as a fair and honest Man; if I had realized it was you…"

They were at a crossroads and for once Faramir didn't feel like every path led to a dead end. Sauron's assault on his father's mind had left a long-lasting impression on Gondor that lingered after Faramir had recovered and the damage to the city had been repaired. The Shadow's influence might finally be lifting from the king's relations with the advisors and he was committed to seeing them move beyond it. "I think at last we're all beginning to understand each other," he commented wisely.

"I think you're right, as you tend to be," said Aragorn slowly. All of that distrust wasn't going to fade instantaneously but he was willing to try, for Legolas' sake as well as for the good of his realm. He recalled his husband's urgings to try and understand the council and his resolve only strengthened. "Please sit down, Lord Eärnil, and we'll continue on with why we're all here. My husband and child were poisoned and I'll need your help in finding out who did it."

To be continued…

_A/N: A lot of you have some really interesting and insightful guesses, but remember that even the most of the characters don't even know for sure. The only ones who know who the real culprit or culprits is/are are the guilty party(ies) and me (insert dramatic throwing back of the head and evil cackle here). Keep it up! I love hearing from you!_


	22. The suspect list

_A/N: No Legolas in this chapter, but I promise that he'll be in the next one! There's just some stuff I need to cover - trust me, please _:)

When the king finished his tale about Legolas' poisoning and what had happened since then Eärnil fell backwards in his chair. "That's _insane_," he declared with conviction. "That's just utterly demented."

"I won't argue with you on that point," said Aragorn grimly, "but that's not really what I want to hear right now. I already know that whoever did this is a madman. What I need from all of you now are ideas about motives and possible suspects." Of course, Aragorn had his own thoughts on the topic but a little politics might be called for in the situation. If he came right out and accused one of their own so soon after achieving this tentative peace they might feel betrayed. He couldn't be there to help Legolas if he also had to contend with an openly hostile council – it was best to carefully nudge them toward the conclusion. "Who do you think would do such a thing?"

"Sire, I cannot even begin to guess," spoke up Turgon, his features still twisted in shock at the notion that someone had actually succeeded in doing harm to the prince consort. "There is no one in all the lands who would benefit from the deaths of Prince Legolas and your child."

"Yes, and every rational person is aware of that. That's why I believe that this was done because of less-than-rational reasons," replied Aragorn as he slowly but steadily turned his pointed stare to one particular Man who was seated in a far corner of the table out of everyone else's line of vision. "In fact, I suspect that this would-be assassin is someone who's convinced himself that somehow he and all of Gondor would be better off were I not married to whom I'm married. He probably has a long list of imaginary offenses that my husband has done to him; maybe he even considers himself to be engaged in a feud with Legolas despite all evidence that any conflict between them is completely one-sided. _That_ is the kind of Man who would risk everything to commit this rather stupid act."

Every single head, either following the king's glare or else on their own volition, swiveled to look at Cirion. The disgraced lord grimaced at all of them but was dancing on the inside. It wasn't the best way to get attention at the council meetings again, but he could make it work in his favor. "It is amazing to me how you suddenly trumpet your appreciation for the plain and honest truth one moment and continue to turn a blind eye to that over-important bed warmer's machinations the next," he spat out contemptuously.

Aragorn's face twisted as a hate he never thought was possible surged through his body. "You –"

"Is there a problem, my king? It was nothing but the plain and honest truth," smirked Cirion. "The elf uses his body, beauty, and charms to manipulate your decisions in everything that you do; and no more so than in your dealings with me. Any other conclusion is nothing but a vicious lie. I need no evidence other than what has been presented just now: he's told you that I'm responsible for trying to kill him and _his_ child and you believe it wholeheartedly."

"You must admit, Cirion," said Belecthor, "that no suspect is more feasible than you. You've made it no secret how much you despise Prince Legolas, even now when silence would be prudent."

"Because I have several good reasons to!" Cirion growled. "How long have I had to endure that elf's presence in the citadel, the court, even the advisors' council meetings after he stole what is by right mine and my family's – "

"That is enough." Aragorn's command was so fierce and authoritative that Cirion's next words died on his tongue. "_That elf_ is not only my husband but also the love of my life. It is only by his good graces that you are still allowed to sit on this council and dwell in Minas Tirith – or Gondor for that matter. Legolas has been nothing but fair and even-handed when it comes to you and this is how you respond? What did you think would have happened if he'd died? Did you honestly believe that were he taken away from me that I would ever marry anyone else, let alone the daughter of his murderer?"

Cirion wasn't at all intimidated by the king's accusations – if anything, he felt that he was at last vindicated. "You heard him, my fellow advisors," he announced triumphantly. "King Elessar has declared openly that the word of that elf whore is law, for he condemns one of your own on nothing more than that. I stand accused of attempted murder simply because I was brave enough to point out his manipulations. Are you still eager to accept this situation, to tiptoe around that creature's unpredictable and selfish whims until the day comes when he decides that you too must go? Is it now clear that we must do whatever we have to do in order to preserve the natural order of things in Gondor?"

Aragorn was on his feet in an instant but he wasn't the first one to reply. "You are, without a doubt, the most vile, hateful, and bitter Man in all of Middle-earth and I include all Easterlings and Haradrim in that assessment," spat out Eärnil, outraged at the slander and astounded by the depths of Cirion's delusions. He'd called him mad before, but never in his wildest dreams did he think that his former ally was _that_ far gone. "Are you really so convinced of your own significance that you believe that Prince Legolas has nothing better to do than endlessly plot your downfall? For the record, I absolutely agree that you are the one behind this whole poison plot and not because of I've been bewitched or out of a compulsion to please King Elessar. I condemn you because of the treasonous, venomous, bile that spews from your lips every time you speak. You are a madman, Cirion; and what's more, a madman with the motivation, means, and opportunity to commit this heinous act." He sneered when Cirion gave him a deadly glare before turning his eyes to the other advisors. "Do not look around for support, for you have no allies left here."

"Or so you think," Cirion hissed, "but remember that not all of my colleagues possess about as much faithfulness as an orc." His gaze rested on an old friend. "What say you, Tanondor? Have you the courage to stand with me against the king's tyranny?"

He was graced with a horrified look for only a moment before Tanondor turned back to face Aragorn. "He speaks not for me, sire," the advisor stated. "Do we have to listen to this for much longer? It would be my _pleasure_ to call for the guards."

"Yes, I believe that would be an excellent thing to do," said Aragorn, his eyes burning with fury as he scowled at Cirion. "We'll be able to conduct business much better once he's locked away in a cell in the deepest corner of the dungeons."

Finally panicked, Cirion held out his hands in a gesture of defensive protest. Despite the weeks of being ignored and shunned, he always believed that all the other advisors were just waiting for the right moment to side with him against the prince. To be so utterly abandoned when the time came had not been figured in with his plans. "You do not understand, sire," his voice shook as he spoke. "I am not at all involved in the plot against the prince."

"So now he's _the prince_ instead of _that elf whore_?" asked Belecthor incredulously. The sheer audacity of it all would have made him laugh out loud had the circumstances not been so serious. "You've admitted freely that you hate him, prattled on constantly about how he 'stole' the king from your daughter, threw around veiled threats and blatant insults, and even _attacked _him in this very room a few weeks ago! Now you have the nerve to stand there and claim this nonsense that you're innocent? You're anything but."

"I do not deny any of that," replied Cirion forcefully. "But think for a moment: what good would it do me if he were dead? King Elessar would no doubt slip into an irrevocable mourning and further neglect his duties to the council; the people would idealize him in memory; and the whole realm would be encouraged to revere him as if he were some grand Vala instead of some lustful creature from the woods. Just thinking aboutit makes me nauseous! I want him to be scorned and spat upon, not martyred."

"That's not exactly the best defense that I've ever heard," observed Eärnil frostily.

Cirion's blood boiled. "Well how about this then, oh honest advisor," he shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The prince was poisoned at lunch yesterday, correct? I was here attending a meeting at the time his food was prepared, and _all_ of you can bear witness to that."

"Yesterday's meeting did not carry on right up to lunch and I seem to recall the way you bolted out of here as soon as we adjourned," Aragorn told him. "I don't see how any of this helps your case."

"That's where Eärnil comes in, sire," Cirion smiled nastily at his former friend. "Go on; tell them where I went after I left."

Eärnil shut his eyes in resignation as realization hit him. "He stopped me in the corridor to force some more of his insane paranoia down my throat," he muttered quietly. "We were never out of sight from this room's doorway."

"Prince Legolas' lunch was already prepared by then," Cirion proclaimed. "He was most likely on his way down to bask in his father's and Lord Gimli's adoration while I was still waiting to speak with Eärnil."

"And how do we know that you didn't bribe someone to do your dirty work for you?" demanded Turgon as doubt began to mingle with his suspicions.

"Who? One of the kitchen staff?" Cirion snorted. "Any one of them would have just taken my money and fled, or told the king what I was bribing them to do. For something of this magnitude I'd take care of it myself; that's the only way it would be done right."

Aragorn sat silently, mulling over all that he'd just heard. "Very well, Lord Cirion," he conceded thoughtfully. While he still wasn't _entirely_ convinced that the fallen advisor was innocent, the Man knew that he couldn't jeopardize the safety of Legolas and their son by stubbornly clinging to his suspicions without considering other possibilities. "You will not be locked in the dungeons. Guards!"

"You just said –"

"That you wouldn't be locked up, I know," interrupted Aragorn as the guards came through the door. "And you won't be. There is a chance that you didn't poison my husband, but you _did_ just try to turn the council against my rule. There's a word for that, Lord Cirion: treason. I feel more than justified now in stripping you of your seat on the advisors' council."

"King Elessar, please!"

Aragorn ignored the Man's forlorn protest. "I'll allow you to keep your title, though I doubt it'll do you much good wherever you end up," he went on. "You have two weeks to vacate the city of Minas Tirith and the realm of Gondor and do not attempt to beg for more time. I'm only granting you that much out of sheer pity for your wife and daughter. The guards here will escort you to your house and make sure that you cause no further mischief. Get him out of my sight."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

"I feel a little odd saying this," commented Tanondor grudgingly after the guards had closed the door behind them, "but I wish that it was unmistakably evident that he was responsible for the prince's poisoning. I can't think of anyone else who would do it!"

"We don't know that it's _not_ him," debated Eärnil. "At any rate, we shouldn't disallow his involvement on his word alone that he wouldn't bribe someone else to carry this out."

"And he shall be included in the investigation," Faramir said. "Along with any other suspects that we can think of. Now, all of you are deeply embedded in court life; do you have any other explanations other than ones that involve Lord Cirion?"

The room fell quiet as the advisors stared blankly at each other. "It doesn't have to be something obvious," Aragorn told them anxiously. After how far they'd come in learning how to work together he couldn't let their efforts go to waste now! Legolas and the baby were depending on their collaboration. "Don't worry about arresting an innocent Man; right now let's just concentrate on general people and possible motives – _anything_, no matter how farfetched it seems. I'd rather deliberate over a lot of unlikely theories than overlook the correct answer because it appeared to be too outrageous. Come, please; start tossing ideas around."

"The kitchen staff must be questioned, of course," offered Tanondor. "Even if it turns out that none of them were involved, someone might have seen something that was unremarkable at the time but significant now."

"And the servants who brought the food to the prince as well," chimed in Turgon.

"We must also include ourselves in the questioning," added Belecthor sagely. "I must agree with King Thranduil," he added under their resisting reactions. "This comes across as a political assassination and we are the citizens most involved in that aspect of Gondorian life. I believe that we should subject ourselves to the same scrutiny as very other suspect, if only to clear the air."

Eärnil knitted his eyebrows. "If the assassination _is _politically motivated," he said, "then we should also speak with the foreign dignitaries. We do not know everything there is to know about them. It could be that one of them is aiming to take down the newly restored monarchy out of fear or resentment of Gondor's power."

"But how would they get access to the kitchen?" argued Turgon. "Only the servants can go in and out of there without raising suspicion. If anyone else did, it would cause gossip; if a stranger did it, it would cause a scandal."

"No stone unturned," Aragorn reminded him. "We'll talk to them as well, but as politely and discreetly as possible. We can't go around inviting people to the city and then accusing them of misconduct on theories alone. I don't want to insult anyone and risk war unless we are absolutely certain."

"My king, what about a plot among the people?" suggested Belecthor. "Prince Legolas is neither Gondorian or even of the race of Men. I haven't heard of any, but some might be _concerned_ about the purity of the royal bloodline."

"I've entertained that thought as well," Faramir spoke up. "But every noble worth his schooling knows that the bloodline of the Numenorian kings descended from Elros, who was himself of elven and Mannish lineage. Most are viewing Prince Legolas' pregnancy as a chance to renew the strength of that line. Some commoners might now be aware of all of this, but how would they get to the prince's food? No guard would let a commoner walked at will through the citadel and none of them have access to the amount of money that would be required to get someone else to administer the poison."

Turgon pinched the bridge of his nose. This was all so damnably frustrating! For every possible explanation there was an even more persuasive reason why it wasn't likely. "Maybe there was no grand scheme," he stated. "We could be over-thinking and thereby missing the point entirely. It could simply be the random act of a madman or criminal."

"One does not simply wind up poisoning the pregnant prince consort," refuted Belecthor. "An act of this nature takes planning, perhaps an exorbitant amount of wealth to convince someone to endanger their lives by committing treason, and most certainly a high level of desperation. No, my friend; whoever did this did it deliberately."

"Which brings us back to the questions of who and why," sighed Eärnil. "Prince Legolas is a popular figure among the people and respected by most of the delegates and nobles. I cannot figure out who else besides Cirion would even hope to benefit from having him murdered. I agree with Turgon in one respect: we're missing something. I _know_ it."

"This has been an – unusual – meeting," noted Aragorn as he apprised each one of their faces. "Unexpectedly helpful and certainly draining. I think we've exhausted our powers of thought and reasoning for the moment; and so we'll adjourn for now. I'll send errand runners out as soon as possible with your tasks in this investigation as well as the times when you'll all be interrogated separately. We will meet tomorrow at the same time, and every day after that while it's still necessary, to discuss progress, findings, new ideas, and everything else that comes up. You are dismissed." He paused for a second. "And thank you."

Faramir remained seated by Aragorn's side while the advisors left. "I can help you divide up the advisors' duties," he offered. "And, if you wish, I can set the schedule for their interrogations by myself so that you can return to Legolas' side."

Aragorn gave him a small smile. "Thank you, my friend," he said gratefully. "Not only for this but for all that you've done since before the day of the coronation. I know I haven't been the easiest official to work with. Please know that I'm sorry for demanding so much of your time."

"You just needed to come around at your own pace," was Faramir's generous reply. He smiled dryly. "But Eowyn might like to hear that apology; she's a little more hotheaded than I am."

"I'll get right to that as soon as I'm well armored."

"I've never been more proud of you at one of these meetings than I was today," Faramir said suddenly. "I know how belittling that sounds, but it's true." His expression became deadly serious. "Let's get down to business. You need to get back to the Houses to keep a close eye on Legolas."

The king's breath caught in his chest. "Do you think –"

"Whoever was brazen enough to do this won't be satisfied until he's succeeded," declared Faramir firmly. "Don't leave Legolas unprotected for a second until we've solved this puzzle once and for all."

To be continued…

_A/N: This story now has over 400 reviews! Thank you all so much for taking the time to drop me some words._

_Mistake realization (for all you eagle-eyes out there): I take all of the names of made-up characters out of the appendices (that's not the mistake). However, when Tanondor's name is actually supposed to be _Tarondor _but now that I've already named him, that typographical error will stay as is. Thank God for spell-check, without which the advisors may have different names every time they're mentioned!_


	23. Chasm

One week passed and still no one had figured out who was responsible for poisoning Legolas; there hadn't even been any more helpful insights that might lead them down the correct path. Every advisor, Cirion and his poor wife and quiet daughter, the kitchen staff, the servants, and the foreign dignitaries had all been questioned and questioned again. Guards were on every street throughout Minas Tirith and just beyond the walls, listening for suspicious behavior or rumors of a plot against the prince consort. Aragorn had met with Faramir and the advisors each and every day without fail to discuss what was said in the latest round of interrogations as he hoped against hope that one of them might have come across that missing piece of the puzzle that would explain everything. Each time he left the meeting feeling more and more frustrated and helpless.

Aragorn was not alone in feeling that way; the whole situation made an air of uneasiness hang over the city. His advisors were discouraged at their repeated failures to be of any _real_ assistance after the king had finally come to a place where he felt comfortable enough to ask for their help and accept it. The hobbits, Faramir, Eowyn, Thranduil, and Gimli were struggling to bury their horror in order to be supportive to the royal couple. The dignitaries were, for the most part, ready to be sympathetic but the current climate and the fact that suspicion – no matter how vague – was on them made them wary. Rumors were flying all over the levels of the city. The poisoning was a grand scandal that enthralled the people just as much as it appalled them and the enjoyment that they seemed to be getting discussing it amongst themselves made Aragorn quietly seethe. He wouldn't mind so much if any of the opinions they presented had yielded anything relevant, but for all the speculation going on nothing that was really involved with the affair had changed.

Well, that wasn't entirely accurate. _One_ thing had transformed during the past week: the personality of one of the chief characters. Aragorn, seated at the foot of the large bed, looked across his bedchamber to where his husband sat silent and still in from of the window. Legolas had spent an additional night in the Houses of Healing after waking up there in order to have some level of assurance that the poison was truly out of his system. When it was evident that he was no longer in of the healers' constant supervision he was escorted by Aragorn, Thranduil, and Gimli – along with Merry, Pippin, Sam, and a slew of guards – all the way from his bedside there to the royal bedchamber in the citadel. No one wanted to take any unnecessary risks with the would-be assassin still unnamed and on the loose and even the normally independent and stubborn elf had agreed to go along with the extreme measure of protection. That was probably the reason why he'd agreed so easily (and at all) when Aragorn had suggested that it might be best if Legolas kept himself sequestered in the royal quarters until the culprit had been apprehended. Of course, that was before the days of stagnating developments. What they'd both imagined would only be a day or two that was better spent in bed so that Legolas could regain the rest of his strength anyway had quickly mutated into a confinement with no end in sight.

Aragorn wasn't prepared to say that it was still the wrong course of action to take but he was beginning to seriously doubt that the poisoner could cause Legolas a deeper hurt if he tried. For a week he'd watched the very spirit and life of his beloved husband wither before his eyes. Once happy, energetic, and endlessly courageous, Legolas now didn't even bother to get out of that chair to go to bed at night. They both knew why this was happening: Legolas had not been outside, among nature and surrounded by things that grow, for a meaningful time since before the poisoning. That would be a sore blow to anyone but it had managed to cripple the wood elf to the point that Aragorn started to fear that he would just fade away.

"My love," Aragorn attempted to draw him out of his shell, "would you like to attend the council meeting? I supposed it would be safe enough in the hall and you haven't been to one in awhile."

"No thank you," whispered Legolas dully. "The windows in there are so high and narrow. I wouldn't be able to feel the sun on my face. This is the only window that lets the light in and shows me the stars at night; I can ask for nothing more than that right now."

"Perhaps some visitors here, then. Would you like me to see if Eowyn and Rose could bring the children by again?" asked Aragorn, remembering the previous visit almost four days ago. The image of Legolas cradling baby Frodo in his arms as Findowyn and Elanor's convoluted game of make-believe actually coaxed a smile out of him made the Man's heart ache. "I could go over there and bring them back with me right now if you wish."

Legolas didn't even bother to look at him. "Let the children and our friends enjoy themselves without having to worry about keeping me entertained," he sighed. "I'm not good company these days."

"Your father and Gimli will be here at any moment," said Aragorn with a twinge of desperation in his voice. If this continued as it had been Legolas will have totally retreated within himself in a matter of days. Once that happened it might be next to impossible to draw him back out again.

"They don't need to keep coming here," replied Legolas dismally. "I'm safe here. No one and nothing could penetrate these walls of stone. They're all around me, all of the time with no escape…"

A single tear slid down the elf's cheek. Legolas didn't feel it or even notice it but the sight was enough to break Aragorn's soul. Some anonymous monster or monsters had tried to take his life by way of irila poison but they just might succeed in their task though this much slower torture. What had Legolas done to make Eru think he deserved to be deprived of the outdoors that he cherished so much? _'Married me,'_ thought Aragorn as tears welled up in his own eyes. It wasn't anyone's doing but the would-be assassin, but the king was tired, scared, and feeling quite abandoned by all the forces that once gave him support. _'Became pregnant by me. He gave up not only his immortality but his entire life as he knew it to be with me and I can't even provide him with the safety to enjoy a walk outdoors in peace.'_

Aragorn looked away, unable to bear witness to his husband's misery and dispassion toward him any longer. It was as if leagues lay between them and yet not so; Legolas never felt this distant before, not even when Aragorn was a ranger, traveling to places that were as far away from Mirkwood. He might have just blamed it on the poisoning but if he was honest with himself in admitting that the current circumstances were just augmenting something that had started a short time after he and Legolas announced the elf's pregnancy. As the obligations to all of the visiting delegations increased while he stubbornly insisted on running Gondor's political life with only the aid of Faramir, Aragorn had let himself drift farther and farther away from the one he loved. _'Legolas knows how court life is, Legolas understands, Legolas knows why I have to do things this way,'_ were all of the reasons he'd use to excuse himself of the behavior; and while that was in part true, it had also been terribly selfish. Why should Legolas _have_ to do all of that? Oh, they still loved each other but their relationship – the communication, the togetherness – had been reduced to times of great distress and absolute necessity. His lower lip started to quiver – however unintentional it might have been Aragorn knew that there was no excuse for neglecting Legolas.

A sharp knock rapped on the door. Neither called out a response and didn't have to bother too anyway, for it was only Thranduil and Gimli. The elven king practically resided in that bedchamber those days and the knock was more of a courteous warning that he was coming in than a request to enter. Left to his own devices Gimli probably would have been lightly less forward but wasn't going to quibble with Thranduil about it when Legolas and Aragorn didn't raise any objections. Spending time on such – _formalities_ – was a waste of energy and considering the somber mood that clung to that bedchamber, elf and dwarf decided that the royal couple didn't have any to spare.

The sight that greeted them was enough to break the hearts of Sauron and Saruman themselves. Legolas, sitting in that chair as still as a statue, didn't make any sort of acknowledgement that would tell them that he knew they were there. Aragorn perched at the end of their bed with his back to his husband as he struggled valiantly to keep his tears at bay. It was difficult to tell which one of them had started falling apart first and which one was free-falling after. Maybe they were simultaneously breaking under the strain of the past couple of months. How it happened, however, was not as important as how the situation could be remedies. Thranduil and Gimli had their own functions within the walls of Minas Tirith and it was clear to them that one would be to help the royal couple in this matter.

"Good morning, my Little Greenleaf, Aragorn," Thranduil greeted them in turn with slightly too much cheer in his tone. "What will we be doing today?"

"I – have to m-m-meet with the, the advisors," choked out Aragorn when it became clear that Legolas wasn't going to say anything. "It wo-won't take more than one, one or two – hours and then I-I-I'll be back, _I promise_," he added, staring forlornly at Legolas and silently pleading for some miniscule sign that he cared if the Man returned or not.

"Well, Legolas," Gimli spoke up, "what should the three of us do while we wait for Aragorn to return?"

"I'm fine here; please don't feel like you have to bother with me," answered Legolas with almost no emotion in his voice. Aragorn covered his face with his hands as a couple of tears escaped.

Thranduil had seen and heard enough. "Nonsense," he scoffed. "But if you will excuse us for a moment, ion nin, Gimli and I must speak with your husband," he added briskly, not bothering to wait for the response that wasn't coming before practically pulling the Man through the doorway into the corridor. "This cannot continue, Aragorn."

"I know, I'm sorry," Aragorn told him while angrily swiping at his treacherous eyes. "I swear I'm going to be strong for him! These tears won't happen again."

"It is not that of which I am speaking," insisted the elf. "He cannot continue to remain in doors for days on end. It is destroying his very being."

"Don't you think I can see that?" Aragorn was aghast. "But whoever tried to kill him and the baby is still out there. If anything were to happen to either one of them…"

"We know, lad," commiserated Gimli.

Aragorn looked at them plaintively. "I'm not holding him against his will," he stressed. "Why is this happening to us? It's my fault that any distance exists between us at all, but I'm trying to protect him now and all of my efforts just make the chasm grow wider. I wish my father was here to give me some counseling."

"You need not look any farther than your heart and your husband for guidance," Thranduil told him. "Legolas asked you a week ago whether or not it was better for his child to starve to death or be poisoned; now I must ask you the same of mine. A green leaf cannot receive nourishment from stone, Aragorn. It will wither away when deprived of the earth, fresh air, and sun."

"But it's so dangerous –"

"I am not suggesting that he run from the citadel at this very moment unaccompanied," Thranduil cut him off. "Of course guards should be with him at all times – but he is a wood elf and he needs to be able to go outside."

Looking tentatively at the closed door that led into the bedchamber that had inadvertently become his husband's prison, Aragorn nodded slowly. "I wouldn't be opposed to making some sort of arraignment," he agreed carefully. "Almost anything would be better for him than this." He gestured toward the door. "After you, sir."

Thranduil took exactly one step before stopping in his tracks. "No," he shook his head. "I believe that it would be best if you were the one who spoke to him about this, Aragorn. This concerns the well being of your husband and your child and I suspect that his compliance in staying indoors is due at least in part to him not wanting you to worry. The love between you two is deep and strong; you can work this out yourselves without me acting as an intermediary."

"I don't think he can hear me anymore," hedged Aragorn. The thought was devastating but it was still easier to deal than finding out that it was true.

He was stunned when Thranduil reached out and gripped both of his shoulders firmly. "You listen to me now because I only have the time to say this once: I have known you and your brothers for a long time and none of you have ever reminded me so much of your father as you have this past week," said the elven king. "Elrond would be so proud to see that you have become the king that he always knew you could be, Aragorn. Now it is time for you to act like the husband that we both believed you were capable of becoming."

Aragorn rested a shaking hand on one of his father-in-law's extended arms. "Thank you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You don't know how much it means to hear you say that – how much I _needed_ to hear that." Sucking in a deep breath as Thranduil lowered his arms, the Man determinedly walked back into the bedchamber.

The elf and dwarf didn't follow right away. Gimli watched with silent compassion as Thranduil conceded so much of his former role in Legolas' life to Aragorn; now seeing him bit his lip and bow his head made him seek to comfort him. "You made the right decision," he assured him, taking his and entwining their fingers.

"I know," said Thranduil a bit tearfully. "This just – it is not easy, but all I ever wanted is for my son to be happy."

"That's because you're a good father and that's what all good fathers want," responded Gimli as he used his free hand to cover their enjoined ones.

"You speak with great authority on the subject, master dwarf."

"Yes, well," Gimli sputtered, slightly embarrassed. "That laddie is like a son to me. I may not be Legolas' father –"

"Yes you are." Thranduil lowered himself to his knees without pulling free from the dwarf's grasp so he could look into Gimli's eyes on the same level. "Blood is not the determining factor in whether or not someone is someone else's parent. You love Legolas in a way that only a parent could and I do not know what he – or I – would do without you. You have become a member of our family, Gimli, and I thank the Valar each and every day for bringing you into our lives."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Aragorn was kneeling down next to Legolas' chair when Thranduil and Gimli made their way back into the bedchamber. "My love?" he was whispering softly, many times in a row now.

Legolas still didn't stir. _'It _is_ rather difficult to hear what someone is saying when you're on the other side of a chasm,'_ Aragorn mused dryly. He regretted keeping his distance, even the respectful one that he maintained when Legolas was growing melancholy in his confinement and made it clear that there was nothing he could say that would comfort him. It was time to start bridging that gap. "Legolas?" he tried again, this time resting a hand on the side of the elf's face.

Finally – _finally_ – Legolas turned his head ever so slowly and looked at him. "What is it, Aragorn?" he asked, growing concerned and even more unhappy at the fear that he perceived in his husband's expression. He hadn't seemed like that when – ai Elbereth, when was the last time he'd looked at Aragorn? It couldn't have been as long ago as his depression made it feel and yet he wasn't able to recall seeing his beloved's face for the rise and fall of three suns for certain and most likely more.

Aragorn gave him a small but encouraging smile. "I was just wondering if you'd like to take a walk outdoors or something," he told him.

"If I'd like –" Legolas cut himself off and swallowed hard. "But the person who poisoned me hasn't been caught yet…"

"Which is why I'd feel better if you would endure the protection of some guards when you do so," asserted Aragorn. He felt his mood lightening as hope crept back into Legolas' eyes. "But you aren't happy being cooped up for many days and it breaks my heart to see you this way. There is no reason why my husband and prince consort shouldn't be able to move as he pleases through the realm's chief city – provided that the necessary precautions are heeded."

"That sounds – there are no adequate words for how wonderful that sounds! Thank you for suggesting it, Aragorn." Legolas leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the lips. It was the first time since the poisoning since they'd kissed on the mouth and both were too caught up in that fact, as well as the sensations of feeling and tasting each other now, to get self-conscious about Gimli and Thranduil witnessing it.

"I'd very much like to walk about in my garden," decided Legolas with barely restrained excitement. "That should be safe enough. Gimli, has the perimeter wall been completed?"

On the spot and feeling a little awkward, Gimli cleared his throat. "I don't, ah, rightly know, to tell the truth," he admitted sheepishly. "There's been so much going on elsewhere that I haven't been spending much time at the wall." He squared his shoulders and afresh windof dwarvish pride hit him. "But I'll go there right now and, by Aule, if it's not done yet it will be before the week is out!"

"I'm afraid," said Aragorn as Gimli sprinted out, "that I'll be unable to join you straight away. The advisors' council is meeting soon but I will be free after then. I would enjoy it if you and I could have lunch together, Legolas; just the two of us. We could even make it a picnic under the trees if that's all right with you."

"That sounds perfect to me," replied Legolas and a familiar but long absent glint sparkled in his eye. "But I must insist that you get your own cook. The culinary expertise of Samwise Gamgee is a treasure that one shouldn't be asked to share."

Aragorn was so relieved to hear Legolas teasing him again that he almost wept. "He's probably too distracted to make more than one meal anyway; the kitchen girls find him _exceedingly_ adorable," he responded, choking on sobs as he joked. He stared deeply into Legolas' face and hid none of his emotions. "I miss you so much."

No explanation was needed; Legolas understood what he meant all too well. "I know," he said and Aragorn kissed him again, letting their lips linger together for another moment after it ended. "I feel the same way."

"I'll – I'll send for some guards. Enjoy the rest of the morning and I will see you again as soon as possible." One more kiss and Aragorn headed out of the room, noting Thranduil's faint but approving smile and slight bow as he passed by. There were still a couple of minutes before he was expected at the meeting hall; time enough to pay a visit to the one person who could help him give Legolas a surprise. The idea had just struck him and it seemed like the perfect treat for his wood elf husband.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

The change in Legolas as he, Thranduil, and four guards walked outside and toward the garden was nothing short of remarkable. "Ai, Ada," sighed the elf prince happily. "I feel like I can breathe again."

"I am glad to hear it, my Little Greenleaf," smiled Thranduil as he watched Legolas turn his face upwards in order to sufficiently soak in the sunlight. "Please promise me that, should you ever grow despondent like that again, you will be open about how you feel. I know that you did not want to worry Aragorn but seeing you in such as state was just as bad, if not worse, for him."

"I understand that now," Legolas told him and would have said more had an elf not come running toward them.

The guards immediately moved to act as a barrier between this intruder and Gondor's prince consort. The elf made no attempt to breach them, deciding it was probably safer to stand back and shout. "My king!" he called over their shoulders to Thranduil.

"Let him pass," ordered Legolas blithely. "He's my father's butler."

They fell back and Galion was able to pass through. "Mae govannen Prince Legolas, and hannon lle," he said. "Mae govannen, King Thranduil. I apologize for disturbing you, but we've had something of a disagreement between ourselves and the Men of Ithilien."

"Oh bother," scowled Thranduil; his son smirked at that rather Bilbo-like expression. The elves and men coexisted peaceably enough in Ithilien but the occasional clash still occurred. At least they'd all agreed – and managed to stick to it – that when the discord was great enough not that the involved parties couldn't work it out on their own, the leaders would be called upon to work things out in a fair manner. It was too bad for Ithilien's residents that those leaders – Thranduil and Faramir – were currently caught up with matters in Minas Tirith.

"A representative from the Men has gone to speak with Lord Faramir," explained Galion. "I can apprise you of the situation before you meet; it won't take much time at all, considering how well you and the lord understand each other."

"Galion," began Thranduil in a warning tone at the butler's attempt at flatter but Legolas interrupted him. "Go, Ada," he urged. "I have four guards to keep me company and no intention of going anywhere except my garden. You can find me there after you're done tending to the kingly duties you've been neglecting for so long."

"Do not get cheeky," replied Thranduil wryly before letting out a long-suffering sigh. "Very well. I shall see to this matter host haste and meet you there."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

It was perfect; an unexpected opportunity that couldn't have turned out better if it had been planned. The ever-present elf king was actually leaving his son's side, not accompanying him when he went to that garden that the king had indulged him with after they were married. The guards were still there, still hovering, but getting there before them would be all that was needed to get around them. _'Now,'_ the would-be assassin thought, _'is my chance.'_ Soon the prince and his child would be dead and all would be made right again.

To be continued…

_A/N: The answer is just around the proverbial corner – we're almost there, I swear!_


	24. When you assume

Before the poisoning incident, the construction of the wall that surrounded Legolas' magnificent garden had been progressing at an admirable pace. The dwarves had worked hard and steady under Gimli's watchful supervision, but the work had slowed in the week that he'd been preoccupied with other matters. That wasn't too surprising: the dwarves who had dwelt in the city since a few months after the end of the war knew how important the project was to him and were reluctant to continue on without his input. Those that had come with the delegation from the Lonely Mountain could not have been expected to help out much either; it wasn't _their _task and even if it was, they were still finding it hard to let go of the preconceptions about elves and wariness of any elf associated with the infamous Elvenking who'd imprisoned theirkin all those years ago. They were willing enough to work when Gimli was there - he was one of the Fellowship who saved Middle-earth, after all, and they held him in high esteem - but weren't about to labor for an elf's sake without him. Under those circumstances, any rational being could understand why the wall was not yet completed.

Dwarves, however, had never been celebrated for their rationality. "You lazy bunch of coal miners!" blustered Gimli as he inspected the unfinished portions. Worry and lack of sleep had left him feeling less than forgiving about their perceived sloth. Those few gaps between the completed parts looked to him to be as big as the hole blown in the Deeping Wall during the battle of Helm's Deep. "Do I have to be on your backs every second for anything to get done around here? No respect for fine stonework or for the city that welcomed you, I see! I'm out of commission for one week and you lot decide to take a vacation!"

"Come off it!" retorted Grór. He was one of the first that answered Gimli's call and King Elessar's request for dwarves to come to repair and rebuild the stonework of Minas Tirith. Needless to say, he was as loyal to Gimli as any dwarf could be but he still wasn't about to appear contrite in public. "If we'd have kept on building you would've just complained that it wasn't right, like you have been whenever someone other than you picks out a stone, and made us take it apart to rebuild again. You seem to think that no one here's as qualified to find the good ones as you."

Gimli gave a nearby small stone pile a nudge with his foot. "If this is the best you can come up with," he groused, "then I'd be right in believing that."

"There's nothing wrong with those and you know it," countered Grór. "I don't know why you're always raising such a stink about it in the first place! It's not like the prince is too particular about his stones anyway."

"I took him to see the Glittering Caves when we returned to Rohan for King Theoden's funeral after the War and he was rendered speechless by their beauty," growled Gimli defensively though he knew deep down that Grór hadn't intended it as an insult to Legolas. "He appreciated good stone when he sees it. Besides, this garden and this wall aren't just for Legolas; they're parts of what's supposed to be the most beautiful spot in Minas Tirith. This is our chance to show the world of Men that the craftsmanship of our fathers isn't yet gone from our kind and right now all we have are a holey wall and a bunch of rock piles! It's a shame to every dwarf out there."

Grór raised his eyebrows. "I take it you want us to finish the wall pretty quick," he noted. "By Aule, that speech was something old Gandalf would have come up with! A simple 'get back to work; would've done just as well."

"Legolas' life is in danger," replied Gimli pointedly. "Yet he's a wood elf and needs to be around things that grow even more than a dwarf needs to be around their stones and precious metals. He's coming here in a matter of minutes because this wall's supposed to provide him with some measure of protection and it's got gaps in it that an army of orcs could march through ten at a time! How's that for your 'get back to work'?"

There was no room for arguing or grumpy exchanges when Gimli was in this type of mood and the other dwarves knew it. Without another word, they straightened up and glared defiantly at him for a moment in one last show of pride before picking up their tools and getting down to their labors. "Get to filling in those holes!" barked Gimli as he began his supervising walk up the wall. "And I want to see those colored stones spaced out, not all clustered together. Where's your sense of artistry?"

"You six there!" he continued, pulling some of the laborers away from a stone pile. "Go down the wall and come up again, checking for any kind of vulnerabilities in the construction. If I find one weak spot that you didn't at any point it'll be your beards!"

"Who'd have thought that I'd ever find shame in seeing you do good stonework?" said a put upon voice behind him. Gimli allowed himself a low displeased growl before turning around to face Gloin. "Working your own people like slave labor to please an elf doesn't even appreciate a stone unless it sparkles. He must have gotten that from his father, if I recall my dealings with that Elvenking correctly."

"I refuse to have that argument with you again," Gimli told him firmly, jutting out his chin and planting his feet. "It never takes us anywhere except to a fight and I have better things to do with my time. Don't worry about these fine dwarves; they know that they can join some other project and they all choose to stay on this one. If you'd just open your eyes and ears you'd realize that I'm not the only dwarf that doesn't dislike Legolas."

"I can forgive them for that. He does present himself as _tolerable_ enough, save for the moments when he just like that father of his," conceded Gloin, not liking the way that his son's frame stiffened at the way he insulted Thranduil. "But that's still no good reason for you to all but forsake your own kind to play house with a couple of elves."

He'd been through heartache, war, and the loss of many dear friends; faced and overcame his strongest prejudices; and had become a revered figure among elves, Men, and dwarves and his father _still_ knew just how to tweak him into a childish snit. "Think whatever you want," he responded gruffly. "I'm well past the age of majority and that means that you have no right to lord over my decisions anymore."

"I suppose that's true enough," said Gloin with a sudden glint in his eyes. "And just who is your lord, Gimli?"

"Thorin III, Stonehelm, the king under the Mountain," was Gimli's automatic but proud reply.

"And if _he_ should call you home you'd readily obey, correct?"

"_If_ he did so, but he has no reason to."

Gloin's chest expanded as he unconsciously tried to appear as large and intimidating as he had when Gimli was a child. "I've been thinking about this for awhile, but I'll give you one last chance to listen to reason. You stop all of this nonsense with those wood elves or I'll be forced to go to King Thorin and have _him _get you away from them. The former allows you to keep some of your honor; the latter will shame you and me both but not as much as it would to let things continue as they have been. What's it going to be?"

"What gives you the right to do something like that!" Gimli was furious. "Using the king for your own selfish purposes, separating me from my friends and my duties; the only one who'd be happy would be you!"

"How dare you talk to me like that?" Gloin spat back. "I'm doing what's best for you and you scorn me. Do you care more for your lover and his son than you do for your own father?"

"My _what_?"

"I saw you two outside of the Houses of Healing a week ago. It was disgusting the way you two were all over each other! How could you go to bed with an elf, let alone the same elf that dishonored and imprisoned me?" Gloin moved closer and his expression was half of a challenge and half of a plea. "Tell me you're not sleeping with him."

"I'll tell you nothing of the sort," shot back Gimli, "because either way it's none of your business. I'm an adult and that means that I'm permitted to do whatever I think is best and become involved with whoever makes me happy, whether you approve of it or not!" With that he spun around and marched determinedly up the wall and away from his father.

Gloin watched his son's retreating back, not at all gratified at how things had turned out. He considered stalking after him, but then what? Would he force a confession out of him in front of everyone? The very thought made his cheeks burn. There was no need to let those who hadn't already guessed it know about Gimli's unnatural affair; it would be better to get King Thorin's discreet assistance to save their family from further disgrace. He headed in the opposite direction instead, intent of finding a quieter spot where he could compose his request to the king without being disturbed.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

"You never cook for _us_ anymore," whined Pippin, playfully forlorn as he perched on a counter in the citadel's royal kitchen. He looked to Merry for confirmation and support.

"Yeah," nodded Merry right on cue. He crossed his arm and leaned against the platform on which his younger cousin sat. "Not since Frodo was born. Not since _Elanor_ was born."

"Not since you married Rose!"

"Come to think of it," said Merry as he rubbed his chin ponderously. "The last time we got to enjoy a genuine Samwise Gamgee cuisine was the night before we got to the Inn of the Prancing Pony in Bree, before we got back to the Shire after the War."

Sam gave them his best annoyed-father Look. "Now that's not true and you know it," he scolded, only half playing along. It was hard enough working in a kitchen where just about everything was too big to work with or on without having to put up with guff fromthose two every second. "The both of you have been over plenty of times during mealtimes. In fact, I don't think there's been one visit that _hasn't_ involved at least one meal and mostly more now that you make me think about it. So quit your complaining!"

"Those times don't count," Pippin said cheerfully. "We know that it was Rose who cooked all of those times."

"That's just nonsense you Fool of a Took," replied Sam, hoping his particular choice of words would buy him a few seconds of quiet. It worked, as Pippin smiled wistfully at the memory of the quick-tempered wizard.

It was too bad that 'Fool of a Brandybuck' didn't sound as neat. Merry merely acknowledged the reference and went on chattering. "So where is Rose anyway?" he questioned while attempting to sneak a carrot off of the plate that sat in front of Sam.

"Don't go doing that!" Sam moved his arm quickly to smack the offending arm; so quickly that he knocked the last of his crushed herbs to the floor in the process. "Now look what you made me do."

"Sorry about that," apologized Merry, appropriately embarrassed.

"You're going to have to do more than be sorry," Sam told him. "Mr. Gandalf had the right idea, punishing you after stealing his fireworks at Mr. Bilbo's party and all. You're gonna have to get me some more." As soon as that declaration left his mouth his mind immediately went to all of the different things that the hobbit could return with besides what he was actually sending him for. "Wait! I'll go with you; can't have you running back and forth, grabbing the wrong herbs and making Mr. Legolas' lunch late."

"I'll keep an eye on his food while you're gone," volunteered Pippin cheerfully, eyeing the plate and conspicuously licking his lips.

"See to it that watching's all you do," ordered Sam emphatically. "All joking aside…"

Pippin's face lost all of its jocularity. "I won't eat it or anything," he promised gravely. "And I swear on the Shire that I won't let anyone else do anything to it either."

Sam couldn't ask for anything more than that so he and Merry made their way to the storage closet. "So, Rose?" asked Merry, returning to his previous question.

"She's with Lady Eowyn and the kids," answered Sam as he opened the door. "Elanor does create quite a ruckus when she's got a mind too and that's her favorite thing to do when she's here. We can't have her bothering people when they're trying to do their jobs and it's not fair to ask the lady to mind her all the time, so my Rosie's there to do her part."

"Quite a little rascal, isn't she?" chuckled Merry, stepping into a small room and scanning the many shelves. "Your Elanor, I mean, not the lovely wife. What exactly am I looking for again?"

The other hobbit rolled his eyes. "You're hopeless."

"Master hobbits?" The head cook stuck his head awkwardly through the doorway. "What are you doing in here?"

"Just gettin' some more herbs for the prince's lunch" Sam replied politely. "We won't be here for more than a minute."

The Man frowned at that. "You shouldn't have to do all of this menial work when you've been givensuch an important duty," he declared. "Why didn't you just send one of the kitchen girls?"

"Because I take care of Prince Legolas' food personally," said Sam, sounding quite firm. "Now I'm not saying nothing bad about nobody but I promised the king and prince that I'd see to all parts of the meals myself."

"Surely you don't think that one of them had anything to do with the poisoning?" asked the cook incredulously. "I can assure you that they've been questioned many times, and doing it once was a waste of time in my opinion. Who ever heard of a kitchen girl caring about politics and the like to kill someone or being clever enough to hide it if she did?"

"Well if you want to name a couple of trustworthy ones I just might ask them next time," Sam told him, though he didn't mean it. As a former servant himself, he didn't like the cook's dismissive attitude about those who worked under him one bit so he could be forgiven for telling one little lie to get rid of him. "There's a lot for me to do and I wouldn't mind the help."

"I can't _name_ any of them," said the flabbergasted cook. "They're just kitchen girls – no one can even tell them apart."

"Then why are you pestering us in the first place? Off with you!" Letting out an annoyed grunt, Sam looked back at Merry. "Can you believe some people, Mr. Merry? Mr. Merry?"

Merry made no answer. His steelygaze and all of his attentionwere focused solely on the row of honey jars on one of the shelves as he digested what the cook had just told them.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Legolas breathed deeply as he took in the sight of his beautiful garden. The trees, the flowers, the shrubbery, the land itself; everything was speaking to him, welcoming him back. How did he manage to stay away for so long? "I've missed this place so much," he smiled. "I'm happy to see that none of the younger flowers and plants withered away when I wasn't around to attend to them."

"There were a horde of gardeners in the city that were more than happy to offer their help," the guard that was nearest assured him. "Even the king pitched in some when he wasn't working on the investigation."

"He did?"

"He said it helped him clear his mind," nodded the guard. "Though it took all of his restraint not to take a hoe to the irilas."

What a sweet thing for Aragorn to do. Why hadn't he told him about it? Well, it wasn't as if they were speaking to each other much those days. Acknowledging that saddened Legolas immensely and he wondered how that was possible. It wasn't as if they didn't love each other: he'd poured out all of his fears to the Man in the Houses of Healing and he knew that Aragorn meant every word he'd vowed in response. Now they just didn't express that love unless the circumstances were extreme. Why weren't they able to trust each other with all of their negative emotions _and _be together like they used to, before the responsibilities of the delegations and running of the city had taken their tolls? Thank Elbereth he was outdoors where he could think more clearly and try to find a way to make that scenario possible.

"Could I be alone for awhile?" he requested. When the guards hesitated he looked at them with pleading eyes. "I promise I won't go anywhere or do anything but sit on that bench right there" – he pointed at a stone seat that sat fairly close to the wall – "and you want' have to go too far. I just need a moment to myself to think. Please?"

"Very well, sire," said one of the guards, albeit reluctantly. The four exchanged a glance and wordlessly scattered off in different directions, going far enough away to give the prince his privacy. After all, they figured, the garden was safe enough; it was more important for them to make sure that no one entered there without leave.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

"I think that we should question the dwarves again," asserted Eärnil to the king and the other advisors as they sat in their daily meeting. "Apparently some sort of grudge exists between them and the prince's father. I wouldn't put it past a wronged dwarf to get sneaky when they feel vengeful."

'_Obviously this Man had never been around a vengeful dwarf before,'_ thought Aragorn wryly. A dwarf who wanted to exact revenge was more likely to take a swing a Thranduil with his axe no matter who was watching, rather than exersice the restraint and discretion that would be needed to poison his son in secret. Still, there were no better suggestions at the time. "Very well –"

His voice cut off as the door burst open. Merry, Sam, and Pippin rushed in with a couple of guards at their heels. "I'm sorry, your majesty," said one of the guards breathlessly. "They insisted that it had to do with the prince and that it couldn't wait."

"I have it, Strider," said Merry hurriedly as he braced his hands against his knees to steady himself. "Everyone's been thinking about this all wrong and that's why we couldn't figure it out but now I've got it."

"Are you saying that you know how we can figure out who he is, mater hobbit?" asked Turgon, casting a doubtful gaze on him.

"That's just it. Everyone's made the same assumption and it's all _wrong_," stressed Merry. "Who can move in and about the kitchen unnoticed? Who's basically ignored unless they're needed and never really looked at by anyone down there? _The kitchen girls_. If someone disguised herself as one of them, she could get all the way to where the honey is and no one would even give her a second thought."

He stared at Aragorn, whose eyes were wide with realization. "Don't you see, Strider? Whoever did this is a _woman_."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Legolas was so wrapped up in this revelry that he didn't hear the footsteps until they were almost upon him. _'Who could that be?'_ he wondered, for he was only expecting his father or Aragorn and the footfalls sounded too heavy and too light, respectively, to be either one of them. It didn't sound like Gimli, the hobbits, Eowyn, the children, or the guards either. While the garden was usually open to whomever wanted to enjoy its beauty, he couldn't imagine that under these circumstances anyone else would have been able to get past the sentries without him being asked.

Looking up, he saw a young woman approaching. She was pretty, though the way she carried herself made her come acroos as small and unnoteworthy.The obvious tension running throughout her body gave her a nervous air while her eyes held a strange, faraway gleam. An oversized cloak covered most of her frame but he could see the very bottom of an expensive-looking dress peering out near her feet.

She stopped a few feet in front of Legolas and stared at him without blinking. "Do you know who I am?" she demanded in a strained voice.

No greeting, proper or informal; no hint that she was surprised to find anyone else in the garden, let alone Gondor's prince consort. Legolas suddenly felt very uncomfortable. "Yes," he replied cautiously. "You're Lady Nienor, Lord Cirion's daughter."

"I am supposed to be the queen," she told him, and drew a long knife out from under her cloak.

To be continued…

_A/N: I dedicate this chapter to Nuavarion, who guessed who the poisoner was. A good number of you thought it was Faramir, and it _almost _was. He was my back-up culprit (in case Cirion's daughter – my first choice – turned out to be too obvious) but I'm glad that it didn't come down to that because I really do love Faramir and his relationship with Eowyn._


	25. Choices that define you

For a moment Legolas' mind and body were frozen in disbelief. He couldn't move, speak, or even think properly. Apparently all he was capable of doing was staring, first at that knife that shone brightly and treacherously in the sunlight; then up into the face of the dead-eyed woman who was wielding it. This simply couldn't be happening; it was utterly – _absurd_. After all of the precautions taken, the days spent in hiding in his bedchamber, the worry of his family and friends, the tension in the city, and the additional strain on his marriage, the solution to the puzzle couldn't be this basic. He wasn't prepared to accept that.

"Lady Nienor," he managed to force out as he slowly stood up. Why did his legs feel so odd? If he didn't know any better he would have assumed that they wouldn't be able to support his weight. "What do you think you're doing?"

"_Sit down!"_ she shrieked, swiping the knife wildly at him. Legolas pulled himself back down onto the bench, but not soon enough. The sound of the fabric of his tunic tearing echoed inhis ears and he felt a horrifying sting at his stomach. "I have to do this, Prince Legolas. You and your baby have to die."

'_She killed my baby,'_ he thought in a panic, but in the next moment he realized that it wasn't true. The injury was but a scratch; bleeding, yes, but not life-threatening to either of them. What it meant, though, was that she not only had the mindset to harm his and his son, but also the ability. A direct attack probably wasn't her first choice in achieving her ends, but then again this most likely wasn't the first time she tried to eliminate them.

"You were the one who poisoned me," accused Legolas as a surge of fury coursed through his being. He could fight her and win; after all, he was an elven prince trained in combat and a member of the Fellowship of the Ring and she was a Gondorian noblewoman who'd never so much as participated in a scrimmage. However, she had one advantage over him: she was armed and he wasn't. With the prospect of being able to go outside again he hadn't thought of taking his knives or bow with him; no one else had mentioned it because he wasn't supposed to be left alone and the guards were undoubtedly armed anyway. It would have to be hand-to-hand combat and the bulge in his stomach still held the stinging reminder of what happened the last time he got too close. Having the knife meant that she didn't have to be the more-skilled warrior; she just had to get in a lucky thrust.

"I had to," she insisted angrily, sounding miffed that he wasn't understanding her plight. "It didn't have to be like this. I _tried_ to give you both a more peaceful death, but you refused to give in. You gave me no choice."

He could always run away, leave her and her vile insanity in his wake and not stop until he found a guard. But he was seated and she'd made it clear that she didn't want him to stand up. Legolas curled his fingers around his belly and felt a bit of warm liquid along with the usual radiance of life given off by his son. She'd tried to take that life away and he wasn't about to just flee and let her think that she possessed some power over him. Besides, he'd been relaxing since Elladan and Elrohir had told him about his pregnancy – as per their instructions – and he was therefore unaccustomed to running with the added weight and unusual balance. He was still more swift, graceful, and agile than mortals, but what if that day was the one day that he tripped? He wasn't going to risk injury in any way by doing such a detestable thing as running unless he had no other option.

There was nothing he could do but stall until he figured out a plan. "Lady Nienor, I don't know what has driven you to commit such terrible acts and want our blood on your hands," he said, his voice deliberate and artificially calm. "But I do know that you can try to make amends for it all right now: put the knife down and just leave this all behind you. No permanent damage has been done to me or my son, so the exile that your father is going into would be considered a suitable punishment for you as well. All you need to do is walk away."

"Walk away, walk away, walk away," Nienor repeated quietly to herself, wrapping her tongue around the words as if they were a novelty. "That would make you very happy, would it not? You could continue to claim what is rightfully mine without a care in the world. Well, I will do no such thing, Prince Legolas! You are living _my_ life and I want it back no matter what."

Oh dear Elbereth; she was truly delusional. _'Think of a plan,'_ he silently ordered himself. Maybe he could climb up into the boughs of one of the surrounding trees. Surely she wouldn't be able to climb faster or higher than him, a wood elf from the dense forest of Mirkwood. But that plan came with all of the strikes that kept him from running with the additional problem of what he would do if he actually made it. He didn't relish the thought of leaping from tree to tree – if he was still able to do that adequately in his pregnant state – in search of assistance, and the idea of being cornered in one, trapped with no real options, but this mad woman certainly didn't appeal either. Whatever he did, his feet would remain on the land.

"I don't understand what you mean by that, my lady," he told her imploringly. "You were a noblewoman before I came here and remain one still. I had nothing to do with my husband's decision to exile your father. I can think of nothing that I've stolen from you, and my child is even more innocent than I."

"Innocent? _You stole my husband from me!_" she roared, enraged and gesturing wildly with the knife. Legolas unconsciously pulled back and grasped his stomach protectively to keep from making an impulsive grab from the weapon. "I am of noble descent, born and reared in Gondor to be the perfect wife for the one Man powerful enough to rule this great realm of _Men_. Yet when my time finally came I was passed over in favor of an amorous elf. You'd already seduced King Elessar before I was born and made him feel obligated to marry you by shedding your immortality against his will. I am not ignorant to your schemes. Because of them I was not even given a chance to fulfill my destiny!"

There was no mistaking who her father was – Cirion's words were flowing out of her mouth. Perhaps he should counter with some words of his own: a call for the guards. Why had he sent them away in the first place? Legolas stared hard into her face, assessing her moods. She was agitated, of course, but still willing to talk to him. Her mind was most likely full of perceived injustices that he'd brought upon her and she seemed relieved to finally have an outlet to voice them. Calling for the guards would probably provoke an attack that would place his son's life in jeopardy.

The mere thought of the guards, however, finally helped him formulate a plan: he would keep her talking until one of the guards returned, or Aragorn, his father, or Gimli came looking for him. She didn't look like she had prepared to deal with anyone but him, so the sudden appearance of someone else might just serve as enough distraction to let him disarm and subdue her at last. Admittedly, it wasn't a spectacular strategy but it was his best chance and Legolas was in no position to be selective.

"I didn't get married with the desire to offend you or anyone else," he stated. "Political ambition didn't inspire me to trick the king either by flesh or through his sense of duty. I love Aragorn and have done so since before I even knew that he could claim the throne of Gondor."

"There – there!" asserted Nienor triumphantly as she pointed the knife at him as if it were one of her fingers. "A proper spouse should not call her husband by his name without stating his proper title first. That was not even a part of my formal lessons – it is common knowledge for any noblewoman. You do not even possess enough reverence for him to call him by his kingly mantle. That private name falls from your lips so easily, as if you were in the throes of passion with him right now! A spouse shares a great Man's public life; a lover indulges his private needs."

The contemptible lessons of her father had been well-learned, he observed. "We share our lives, both public and private," Legolas told her, sounding a bit defensive. "He would have it no other way, for there were only ten years of his life when he _didn't_ love me."

"I would not have made him give you up after our marriage," she insisted. "Males need their beautiful, untamed distractions. People like me are meant to be presented proudly to all the lands and creatures like you are supposed to fulfill those base, carnal desires and be the topic of boasting after formal gatherings when the men talk about unimportant things."

"Marriage and those 'base, carnal needs' are not so mutually exclusive," he reminded her. "It is by those means that children come into the world."

"I know that!" she snapped. "But a proper spouse takes no pleasure in it and has the dignity to keep out of the public eye while evidence of the joining still remains in her belly. I have no doubt that you enjoyed the act just as much as you enjoy flaunting the result of it." Her eyes dropped to his stomach. "The heir of the kingdom should be my child, not some half-breed spawned from an elf whore!"

"The line of kings descended from the union of an elf and a Man," Legolas informed her frostily while inwardly seething at how dismissive and uncaring she was about his baby. "And this child is not just my son, but also the son of King Elessar of Gondor."

"To whom _I_ am supposed to be queen," she countered furiously. "Why should I be denied the right to bear his heir because of you?"

"Because I'm his husband and am perfectly capable of doing that myself," he argued. "I'm well aware that many of the unmarried noblewomen dreamed –"

Nienor's face scrunched up and turned beet red while her hands fisted tightly. "They dreamed!" she screeched. Legolas was reminded suddenly of little Findowyn, after Eowyn or Faramir disciplined her while she was in a bad mood. This woman was little more than a child, and she was acting just like one by doing whatever it took to make the world conform to her simple view of what it should be. "But for them those were merely fantasies. My father told me that I was going to be the wife of the Man who ruled Gondor; not wondered, not imagined – definitively _told_, and spend my whole life preparing me for it."

As she ranted on, a strange movement behind her caught Legolas' eye: two hands had appeared on top of the wall, resting flat as if being braced. Then the top of a head bobbed in and out of vision and the hands crawled forward to grip the edge. Someone was trying to climb over the wall, or else was being hoisted over it! All he had to do was keep her from turning around or attacking for a few more moments and he would have all the distraction he needed to stop her once and for all. The baby seemed to sense his relief and anticipation and gave a mighty kick. _'I'm going to get you out of this mess very soon, ion nin,'_ he promised, knowing that he'd understand.

"Lady Nienor," he said a little too loudly. "I have no doubt that you have many attributes that a powerful Man would desire in a spouse. Why are you only fixated on mine? Your father's title and position gives you the opportunity to be matched quite well, and more appropriately, with one of the unmarried noblemen of the city. It is not unreasonable to assume that you could even marry the king of another land if attaining that title of queen is an important part of marriage to you."

"He wants me to be the queen of _Gondor_," she told him emphatically. "There are no other options for me."

A body was projected over the wall, landing flat on his face in the mud. Fortunately, Nienor's total preoccupation with Legolas and the softness of the soil ensured that she hadn't heard his entrance. The elf studied the figure as much as discretion and the need to stay focused on her movements would allow; he couldn't make out his identity, but the abundance and texture of the mass of hair that covered his head – not to mention his height – left no mistaking that the interloper was anything other than a dwarf. He appeared to be trying to push himself to his feet but was stumbling a bit. _'The landing must have knocked the wind out of him and left him in a daze,'_ thought Legolas decisively, determined to buy enough time and not set the insane woman on someone who was at a disadvantage.

"You are the daughter of Lord Cirion, a noblewoman of Gondor, and well-trained in how to act as an obedient spouse," asserted Legolas, even though the idea of obedience being the prominent quality that anyone would want of a spouse made him queasy. "There _are_ other options."

"You cannot understand." She took a step forward; now her body totally blocked his view of the person who was trying to come to his aid, unless he moved his head in such an obvious way that even someone as delusional as she was wouldn't be able to help realizing that there was something of interest behind her. "Your father loves _you_, even though you are a disobedient little wretch who defied his wishes and attached yourself to my king. You have enjoyed a life-age of Middle-earth with him doting upon you, rearranging his entire life to be with you, calling you by some nauseating childish nickname. _My Little Greenleaf_ – hrumph!" she scoffed.

"Lord Cirion has said for as long as I can remember that he is the father of the future wife of Gondor's ruler," she continued, and Legolas could see a deep pain mingled with the insanity in her eyes. "But that does not make any sense because _I_ am his daughter. Everyone defines me as such, as you did just now; and yet I cannot be the future wife of Gondor's ruler as long as you still live. Even if I killed you and let your baby live, I would still not be the future wife of the Gondor's ruler because with that heir, King Elessar would resist the idea of remarriage. My father is not _my_ father and I cannot be his daughter unless I at least have a chance at obtaining the title of Gondor's queen and that cannot happen while you and your child still live. Do you not finally understand, Prince Legolas? You and your son are the only obstacles standing between me and becoming the queen and _I am nothing if I am not the queen of Gondor._"

It was as if the whole world inhaled deeply as she raised the knife and breathed, "It was not supposed to be this way." Legolas tensed and would have let his body decide whether he was going to risk the danger of fighting or the indignity of bolting if he hadn't heard the most welcome and beautiful voice ever.

"Lass!" shouted the dwarf who'd been propelled over the wall. Nienor, startled, instantaneously spun around with the weapon still poised to attack. This was the opportunity he'd been waiting for; Legolas felt the thrill of battle as he lunged forward and seized her wrist. That action made it impossible for the mad noblewoman to do anything with the knife but move it a little bit from side to side as she struggled to free herself. The two remained locked in that position: Nienor thrashing, fighting without focus trying to get free and Legolas, fierce with parental protectiveness and being personally affronted, determined not to let that happen.

"Now! Move!" bellowed the dwarf at him and Legolas let go suddenly, leaving her disoriented and off-balance. The dwarf took advantage of the situation and proceeded with his plan, swinging the unsharpened side of his axe at her knees. She crumbled on impact and hit her head on the stone bench as she fell. Lady Nienor was finally unconscious and unable to do harm to anyone else for a long time.

It was only as she fell that Legolas was able to get a full view of the heroic dwarf. "You blasted pointy-eared fool elf!" lambasted Gloin, shaking his axe at him in a scolding manner. "What was that? I get thrown over that wall into a mud puddle, all to keep you from getting a knife in your gut, and what do you do? _You provoked her by grabbing at the knife like that! _You're how many months pregnant –"

"Almost eight," the elf supplied automatically.

"You're almost eight months pregnant and you think you can wrestle with anyone like that? Do you have _one_ shred of common sense in that head of yours?"

"I apologize, master dwarf," replied Legolas, stunned. He wasn't exactly sure what he was sorry for, but how could he be expected to think clearly right then? It had been a day full of surprises and the biggest one of all was currently yelling at him. "I'm also grateful, if pleasantly surprised, by your intervention on my behalf."

"Don't go assuming you know anything about how I act in certain situations," said Gloin pointedly. "I'm a guest of this city and its king; it wouldn't do well for me to ignore a threat to his spouse and unborn child when it interrupts my thinking. Whatever grievances I have with your idiot father are between us."

"So you decided to be propelled over a wall when my words with Lady Nienor disturbed your solitude?"

Gloin gruffed a bit as he sat down next to the elf. "I wasn't alone, as you'd have been able to tell if you had any common sense. I sent a dwarf up the wall to find Gimli and another to fetch your worthless guards – one moment alone indeed!" he snorted. "But I figured that you'd need someone to pull you out of that mess before any one of them could get to you and I was right."

"You were," agreed Legolas as the unstoppable feelings that being in that situation gave him drained away and he was left with all of the other emotions. As certain as he'd been that he would find a way to _somehow_ subdue her, the fact remained that someone had wanted to kill his child to the point where she took a knife to the bulge in his stomach. What if she'd succeeded? Tears started sliding down his cheeks at the thought of losing his son. "Thank you."

Comforting words were probably called for at a time like this but dwarves were not a race adept at offering such things and Gloin wasn't quite used to the idea of speaking them to an elf. "Of all the stupid stunts to pull," he continued to chide, though his voice did soften. The wood elf didn't seem so much life his prideful father; in fact he was even unobjectionable most of the time. Jumping into the scuff so rashly was something that a dwarf would do – maybe years in the presence of Gimli had rubbed off. At any rate, Gloin found that he could begin to understand his son's attachment to him. "No wonder Gimli's so stuck on staying here with you. Where would you be without good dwarvish sense?"

Legolas smiled faintly. "I'm glad I don't have to find out."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Aragorn drew many stares as he dashed through the streets of Minas Tirith toward Legolas' garden but he didn't care. Such behavior could be explained away later; the important thing right now was not his image but getting to his husband as fast as he possibly could. Oh, why hadn't he left the meeting sooner?

After Merry's revelation about the gender of the would-be assassin, the king and his advisors immediately began discussing the new suspects and motives that it revealed to them. It was the first time in days that he felt they were discussing anything substantial and he'd gotten so caught up in finally experiencing a breakthrough that he focused all of his being solely on what he could discern from it. Because of this one-mindedness, a thought that should have occurred to him right away didn't dawn on him for a few good minutes: Legolas' guards wouldn't make a conscious effort to protect him from a woman. Not even Thranduil would be very cautious if a female approached them. He'd bolted whilst Eärnil was mid-sentence and never looked back.

It felt as if an age had passed, but the garden finally came into view. Aragorn almost made it through the gate when he ran headlong into a guard. "Your majesty! I'm so sorry!" blurted out the distressed and flustered guard. "I was just coming to find you."

"What happened? Where's Legolas?" demanded Aragorn frantically as dread flooded him.

"She must have snuck into the garden before we got here," the guard explained in a disjointed fashion, still not recovered from the events that had just taken place. "And King Thranduil was called away – and the prince requested some privacy –"

"Oh Valar!" Aragorn pushed past him roughly and lunged further into that deceptively beautiful, green place so full of life when his husband and child might be dead on its grass. He came soon to a small clearing and beheld the strangest sight yet: several guards were concerned with something on the ground in front of the bench where Legolas sat between Gimli and Gloin. The elf was clutching his stomach for dear life as the dwarves talked to him animatedly; scolding him, if Aragorn was reading their body language and gestures correctly.

Legolas heard his rather noisy entrance and looked up. The relief he felt when he spotted his husband was almost painful. "Aragorn!" he called out.

"Legolas – melanin!" The Man ran over and skidded to his knees in front of Legolas. He soaked in his condition and the sight of blood – _coming from his pregnant belly_ – made the breath catch in his throat. "Oh no – blood – are you – and our son –"

"We're fine," Legolas promised him, grabbing his face on either side and resting their foreheads together. He rolled his head down and pressed their lips together in a chaste kiss. "It's just a scratch." His hands shook as he kissed him again. "Just a scratch. She was – very upset."

"That's an understatement," interjected Gloin. "Stark-raving mad is more like it."

"Who is 'she'?" Aragorn asked. "And what are you doing here, Master Gloin?"

The old dwarf straightened his shoulders proudly. "I believe that the elf called her Lady Nienor –"

"Lord Cirion's daughter?" interrupted Aragorn darkly; Legolas nodded affirmatively.

"If you say so," responded Gloin flippantly. "I overheard everything on the other side of the wall and decided to lend a hand."

Gimli shook his head at his father's blasé attitude but Legolas smiled, more than willing to indulge Gloin's pride after what he'd helped him do. "And I shall forever be in your debt because of it."

"As will all of Gondor," Aragorn told him solemnly as he tore of a portion of fabric from the bottom of his tunic and started dabbing at the cut on his husband's stomach.

"Your highness?" one of the guards caught their attention.

Aragorn glowered but didn't turn away from Legolas' injury. "I'm busy right now," he told him forcefully.

"I understand and apologize for the intrusion," offered the guard contritely, "but I thought that you should know that we're taking the lady away now."

"Hold one moment," Aragorn ordered quickly. He looked up into his husband's eyes. "I need to speak with the guard for a moment, but I'll be back as soon as possible. Gimli?"

The dwarf obligingly took the torn cloth from him and continued to clean Legolas' scratch while Aragorn rose to his feet and pulled the guard a short distance away. "She's unconscious," he commented and questioned at the same time.

The guard nodded. "From what we've gathered, she was distracted when Lord Gloin showed up. Prince Legolas seized her and began fighting for the knife; Lord Gloin swung at her knees and she ended up hitting her head. She was out good by the time we got here."

"I'll deal with the fact that you _weren't_ here soon enough; just take the lady to the Houses of Healing right now," Aragorn commanded with a grimace. "She can go to the dungeon after a healer sees to it that she lives. Make sure that nothing happens to her at any point. Lady Nienor will not be allowed to take the easy way out of this; _I _will be the one to decide her fate."

To be continued…

_A/N: This darn chapter gave me more trouble than any other in this series! That's not really pertinent to anything, but I thought I'd share anyway. I hope it answered all of the questions and ponderings that a lot of reviewers had; if not, ask me again and hopefully my totally worthless memory will be working when it's time to post again._


	26. Not yet

"I thank you for your time, King Thranduil," said Faramir after they bid farewell to the representatives of their respective races. "I know that you have other responsibilities to tend to here."

"No more than you," replied Thranduil wearily.

Faramir let out a sigh as his eyes fell back onto the road that led out of the city toward Ithilien. "Well, we gave them a resolution to the conflict and instructions as to what should happen if a similar situation arises. Hopefully our peoples will be able to live with the compromise."

"Hopefully they will not let any more of that petty bickering disrupt their lives – and ours," the elf king groaned in frustration. "I cannot grasp the logic of politics at times, Lord Faramir: I am the first to admit that I can be difficult to get along with at times. That is why I employ the assistance of advisors. Yet these same elves that have given me many tiresome lectures on the art of diplomacy must turn to me to negotiate when they themselves fail at it."

"Anyone who claimed that politics is logical is a fool," Faramir had to laugh at the very idea.

Thranduil shot him an exasperated smile. Sometimes the Man's breezy attitude reminded him of those days in Mirkwood when Legolas was in charge of any negotiations with the Men of Dale and Lake Town. "I did not mean it like that. I just wish that our peoples could get along while it is necessary for us to be in the city."

"Just try to see it as I do: as Eru's way of reminding me that I have several responsibilities that cannot be neglected, even when I wish they could," said Faramir with a sort of melancholy mirth. "The Stewart of Gondor must also be the Prince of Ithilien as well as the husband of Eowyn and the father of Findowyn. I fear that at least one of those roles will always fall to the wayside when the duties of another increases."

"You usually hide that feeling very well," commented Thranduil, quirking an eyebrow at him. While none were exempt from feeling overwhelmed and frustrated at times, no one – elf or Man – had ever appeared as calm and collected as Faramir. He couldn't help but be a little suspicious as to why the Man was being so open about it with him at that moment.

"If I let it all out every time I felt like I was being pulled apart by the different forces in my life I would never stop screaming," Faramir told him. "There will always be something: either being with my family or attending to my duties to Gondor; torn between Minas Tirith and Ithilien; acting as a bridge between our peoples or between the king and the advisors' council. The funny thing is that most of those opposing entities want the same things; they just are unable somehow to communicate with each other."

"It is a shame that all cannot be wholly reconciled," agreed Thranduil carefully, "but some duties – and some people – are just too different from each other for that to happen."

"Or maybe the problem is that they're too alike."

When could he cut this conversation off? While Thranduil respected and even liked Faramir, he wanted to be in the garden with Legolas. "Hmmm," he replied distractedly, glancing over his shoulder down the road that would take him to his son. He blinked at the Man's words sunk in. "What?"

"I've seen many a people who've been so caught up in their differences – superficial and deep – between them and another that they fail to recognize that they have much in common. Those similarities can also act as a barrier if they aren't acknowledged are dealt with appropriately," said Faramir with a sage glint in his eyes.

"Such as the problems that arose between Aragorn and the advisors?" asked the elf flatly. Faramir had a bold quality that he usually admired, but Thranduil wasn't sure he appreciated what he was insinuating and definitely disliked the cloaked hints. It was just as if he were speaking with Mithrandir again! He missed the wizard but not his clever clues; the king would take the blunt truth any day of the week.

"Certainly," answered Faramir, sensing Thranduil's wariness and offering a nod of concession that told of his intentions not to pry further at the moment. "Speaking of which, I was supposed to be at the meeting a _long_ time ago. I'm sure that Legolas is eagerly awaiting your return as well. Good day, King Thranduil."

"And to you as well, Lord Faramir," Thranduil returned and they parted, walking in opposite directions to reach their destinations.

The walk there was short enough and uneventful, but a strange energy in the air came to Thranduil's sharp elven senses before he even entered the garden gates. Activity of some sort was going on, and more than what should be if Legolas' visit to his trees and plants was progressing normally. A feeling of uneasiness grasped at the edges of his mind but he tried to shake it off. _'Must you always think the worst?'_ he scolded himself silently. Perhaps those energetic hobbits had decided to join him. Or else Eowyn might have brought the children to let them run off all of their excess liveliness before naptime. Any one of their presences would cause a flurry of words, excitement, and motion. Yes, that was it; just a visit with some unexpected friends. Still, his stomach sank, his breathing grew just a little bit jagged and he increased his already fairly rapid pace.

It wasn't until he'd actually entered the garden that he could actually pick out words and phrases from the buzz of murmurs. _'…Under specific orders **not** to leave him alone...'_ said one angry voice. _'…Weren't expecting…already waiting here for him when we arrived….'_ Thranduil's entire being went cold as he listened to those ominous exchanges, but it was one fragmented lament that made his heart stop: _'…Brought a knife…lucky blow to the prince's stomach….'_

No. No, no, no, no, no, no, _no_. Thranduil took off, running so fast that he would later marvel that his legs didn't fly off. All he could think about was getting to his son even if the sight that greeted him upon arrival might break his spirit. His poor Little Greenleaf; all he could picture was him lying in a pool of blood. Oh, this was all his fault! He'd left Legolas alone after promising to keep him company and now the person who tried to kill his son before had somehow gotten access to him again. Was Legolas alive? Was the baby? Thranduil was sure that Legolas would succumb to grief if anything happened to his child; now hearing about a "lucky blow" being delivered to that pregnant belly….

'_Not yet.' _Thranduil didn't exactly know to whom he was making that plea, and he didn't care as long as _someone_ would listen and comply. _'I will have to bury my son one day; if that does not destroy me, I might linger long enough to do the same to my grandson. Just please – not yet. It is not yet Legolas' time, nor my grandchild's either. Not yet.'_

After what was only about a minute but felt more like an age Thranduil arrived at the clearing where the others were gathered. His gaze immediately fell on Legolas. The younger elf was sitting – a good sign as far as his father was concerned, for it meant that he didn't need to be lying down because of lack of strength, or carried off to the Houses of Healing with all haste. Gimli was sitting beside him, holding one of his hands. Thank Elbereth for that dwarf and how much he loved Legolas! Much to Thranduil's surprise and disconcertion, though, Gloin was present as well; perched on Legolas' other side and speaking in a low voice. Legolas wasn't looking at either of them, however, as his eyes were resting on the Man who was kneeling before him: Aragorn. It appeared that he was trying to pat away the king's hands, which were pressing a piece of fabric against the bulge in his stomach.

The breath caught in Thranduil's throat as he noticed the discoloration on the cloth: it looked like…_blood_. _"Legolas!"_ screamed Thranduil, jarred out of his revelry at the evidence of his son's injuries.

Legolas hadn't been that relieved to hear his father's voice since the elder elf had arrived in Minas Tirith for Aragorn's coronation and the wedding, surprising him as he prepared for the events. "Ada!" he called back.

It was fortunate that Aragorn had the good sense to move very quickly out of the way or else his father-in-law would have trampled him. Not maliciously, of course; the elven king was just so focused on actually feeling his son in his embrace that he was blind to everything else. "Not yet," sobbed Thranduil as he threw his arms around Legolas, clutching him as if he feared that some terrible force would try to tear him away at any second. "Not my Little Greenleaf or his miracle. I cannot lose anyone else like that. Please do not take them away from me yet."

"I'm all right, Ada," Legolas assured him. He turned his head slightly into his father's neck and inhaled his familiar, comforting scent – a fresh woodsy smell that had clung to him for as long as he could remembers, even after spending days inside the palace caverns in Mirkwood or in the city of Minas Tirith. That scent always made him feel as if his father was with him even when he wasn't physically present, giving him a sense of stability and security during some dark days of the Quest. Now it was doing wonders to calm that last bit of jittery nerves. "It's only a scratch – see, it's already stopped bleeding. We're both all right."

"What has taken place here today?" asked Thranduil in a quavering voice.

"She wanted to kill me and my baby," Legolas told him gently, comfortingly, as if it had been Thranduil who'd been attacked. In a different way, he supposed, it had been as well. "She thought that if we were dead that she could become Aragorn's queen."

Thranduil instantly hated whoever would do such a terrible thing to his family. Perhaps Aragorn would do him the courtesy of allowing _him_ to administer the would-be assassin's punishment. That could wait for another, more appropriate time, though. "Both of you are staying here with me," he declared hoarsely. "No social-climbing little twit is going to harm either one of you ever again. I cannot lose you yet." His face grew red at the thought and he pulled his son even closer, a feat that should have been impossible.

Gimli watched this exchange solemnly; then with one hand still gripped tightly by Legolas, he rose to his feet and carefully turned so that he could put his free arm around Thranduil's back. "You won't have to," he promised. The dwarf knew them both well enough to know that Thranduil would never completely believe Legolas' assurances about his own well being. Hearing it from Gimli might be what the elder elf needed to collect himself. "It's all over; the guard's have that blasted poisoner and she will _never_ be able to do anything to either one of them again."

Legolas felt the grip of one of his father's arms slowly loosen as he moved to place his hand over Gimli and his enjoined hands. The gesture was something new – no one had ever involved themselves in one of their father-son embraces before – but it seemed right. He was old enough and emotionally mature enough to understand that Thranduil was not a fearless, all-powerful being; but rather a strong elf that was still vulnerable to the same emotions that everyone else was.

'_Not having someone to share those fears with while I was growing up must have been difficult for him,'_ he thought as he tightened his hold on them both. He was glad that Gimli had been willing and able to fill that role, and that his father was able to overcome his prejudices to let him into their family.

Gloin looked on as the three embraced. His son holding hands with two elves, the cold Elvenking with a tearstained face seeking comfort from a dwarf, and the prince who had somehow found a way to belong to three different races; it was all so surreal, disturbing, and yet….

He turned away quickly, not wanting to face what he was beginning to understand.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

"Legolas Thranduilion, what were you thinking?" Thranduil admonished a little while later after he'd been told the entire story. "Jumping at her when she had that knife, grabbing her wrist like that! What if she'd gotten loose and managed to stab you again?"

"She didn't stab me; she _scratched_ me," Legolas reminded him brightly. "And what kind of weakling do you think I am? I am a warrior of Mirkwood – I'm certainly capable of seizing her without her getting away from me."

His attitude was enough to make Thranduil want to confine him to his chambers until the baby was an adult! "You are pregnant!" he insisted.

"Pregnant people have fought foes before and won."

"Only when there was no other option," argued Thranduil. "You knew that someone was there to help you."

"I don't need saving," groused Legolas. He hated being treated like he was helpless; after all, he understood his own limitations but those didn't mean that he needed to be pampered to the point of excess. "Just be happy that I restrained myself until someone was there to distract her."

Thranduil moaned dramatically. "The only consolation I get is that you will understand how I feel when you are a father." He shook his head and turned to Aragorn. "So what is to be done now? How will she be punished?"

"I'm not even thinking about that right now," responded Aragorn tiredly. "Legolas needs to return to our bedchamber, where a healer can attend him –"

"I don't need one – it's just a scratch."

"Why isn't he going to the Houses of Healing?"

"One at a time, _please_," Aragorn could feel a headache coming on as his eyes darted between father and son. "Legolas, it would make _me_ feel better if you let a healer examined you. Thranduil, Lady Nienor was taken there and I don't know feel comfortable with the idea of them being in such close proximity."

That didn't placate the elven king at all. "Why are you bothering with all of that for her? She tried – "

"I know what she tried," Aragorn interrupted him, forcing his tone to remain calm. "But I have to act impartially to all that I judge and that includes those who have caused me and those I love much pain. That's why I can't think about it now; if I determine the punishment at this very moment I'll end up doing something that will come back to haunt us all later."

"How could you possibly do that?" jumped in Gimli, exasperated. "She tried to kill the prince consort and future heir, who also happen to be your husband and son. There is no punishment that wouldn't be too lenient."

"She is a female and of a noble family," Legolas explained to defend his husband decision. There were other reasons why he agreed with it, but he wasn't inthe right placeplace literally and emotionallyto confront those feelings yet. "That doesn't change her crimes, but it does create some additional political considerations."

Aragorn offered him his hand and Legolas hesitated for a moment before accepting it with a dry smile. "And I swear I'll think about them all tomorrow," the king declared. "Just now, please, _please_ will you consent to being examined by a healer? It only has to be one, in our personal chambers and not that room in the Houses that you hate so much."

"You're trying to charm me again," teased Legolas. He sighed deeply. "I'll agree to it, but only if it's done by Ioreth and not one of those long-winded healers. I used up all of my restraint this afternoon. Are you coming with us, Ada? Gimli?"

"Of course I am," replied the dwarf with a grunt. "Look at what happened the last time I left you alone! Those blasted stoneworkers should have enough instructions to be able to put in a good day's work without me being there to coddle them. I'm going to be with you day and night from this time on."

"How cozy," commented Aragorn as visions of Gimli sleeping in their bed with them danced around his head. "Thranduil?"

"I shall be along in a few minutes," replied Thranduil faintly. "I just need…."

Legolas frowned. "Ada?"

"I promise that I will be along in a few moments, my Little Greenleaf; do not worry about me."

"If you're certain," hedged Legolas. When his father showed no sign of relenting or offering more information, he gave him a swift kiss on the cheek. "Hurry then. I like Ioreth enough, but that doesn't mean I won't get a mean sort of enjoyment watching her get a little flustered having you over her shoulder while she examines me."

His eyes darted to Gloin and he suddenly felt uncomfortable. What does one say to someone who saw you as his enemy and then went out of his way to help him out of a dangerous situation? "I thank you once more, Master Gloin," Legolas finally decided on. "You are truly a brave and hardy dwarf, and a credit to Durin's race."

"Yes, well –" Gloin was at a loss for words too. "Go on and get looked over. I don't want to have been thrown over a wall onto my face for nothing."

Legolas nodded and slung a supportive arm around Aragorn before his husband could do the same to him. The Man gave a closed-mouth titter, leaned in closer, and together they walked away with Gimli leading the way. Thranduil watched quietly, inwardly shaking his head at his son's stubbornness and Aragorn's understanding before shifting his attention to Gloin. "You helped my son," he stated in an almost accusing manner. "Why?"

"It eats you up, doesn't it?" Gloin shot back. "That a dwarf – _me _– came to his aid when you weren't around to do it."

"I am not so petty that I would object to _anyone_ doing anything that would help save Legolas' life," replied Thranduil through gritted teeth. "Your motivations, however, remain a mystery to me; especially since you have made it clear that you dislike my son so."

"Oh, of all the –" Gloin let out a frustrated grunt. "That lad is married to the king, of whom I'm a guest; how many times do I have to explain that? I couldn't just sit idly by because his father's an arrogant jackass who thinks nothing of locking innocent people up."

The elf narrowed his eyes into slits. "The only arrogant jackass I see here stands before me," he growled. "Honestly, how could a fine, upstanding dwarf like Gimli come from such a father? Your son must have inherited his sense of decency and honor from his mother – _he _would never attempt to sneak across another's realm, lie to the king's face when caught, and hold a grudge for what was his fault!"

"My fault! You knew! You know what we were going to do and you decided that you wanted the treasure all to yourself!"

"I do not want to do this!" burst out Thranduil. "My son and his child were attacked; I want to be with him, not standing here rehashing ancient feuds and an incident that occurred 50 – 60 – no – how many years ago was it?"

Gloin opened his mouth to yell out the indignant answer and found that his mind was blank. "I can't rightly recall the exact number at the moment," he said defensively. "But that doesn't change the fact that you did us a grievous wrong and I don't like you."

"I do not like you either," Thranduil told him. His jaw tightened for a moment as he debated his next choice of words. "Long years have passed, Master Gloin, and the world has changed. _Our _worlds have changed; our times are ending. The remaining elves will leave for Valinor before the infants of Men grow into old age and the dwarves will retreat more and more into their mountains. This feud between our races is out of place in this dominion of Men. While we may never be fully reconciled, can we not try to put it behind us? I am willing to admit that mistakes were made on both parts."

No answer was given at first. "I was planning on asking King Thorin to order Gimli back to the Lonely Mountain," said Gloin suddenly. Thranduil's face blanched and he shut his eyes. "But I won't do that now. After all I went through to keep Legolas intact, leaving him without some dwarvish sense to guide him would make all of my doings vain. That means that I'm going to have to come to Gondor whenever I want to see him; and it would be nice not having to hate you so actively whenever that happens."

"Then it is agreed: we will put forth no more efforts in keeping our conflict alive," Thranduil actually managed to give him a tight-lipped smile. "I am grateful for your intervention today. There is no doubt in my mind that Legolas would have fought her alone if you had not been there."

Thranduilbowed his head slightly in farewell. "Hold for a moment!" called Gloin as the elf started to leave. "This – I won't – I have to ask: are you having an affair with my son?"

Thranduil blinked once but otherwise showed no sign of surprise. "I am sorry, but I feel that it is not my place to answer that. That is something that you must discuss with Gimli. Good day," he added, leaving Gloin behind to wonder.

To be continued…

_A/N: You want the God's honest truth? I don't know if Thranduil and Gimli have a romantic relationship. I hadn't planned anything like that at the beginning, but then a few of you started asking about it. I try not to fight the natural flow of the story, so I've been writing it ambiguously. I haven't said that they have and I haven't said that they haven't; and I haven't decided whether or not I want to decide either way. :)_

_Here's a few answer to some questions I got about last chapter and a chapter before that.:_

_The King Thorin is not the same Thorin that was in The Hobbit. When that Thorin died, his kinsman Dain Ironfoot became the King under the Mountain. Dain died during the War of the Ring during a battle and, according to the Appendices, his son was Thorin III, or Thorin Stonehelm._

_The baby's birth is coming, but not quite yet. First we have to get through Lady Nienor's trial (among other things). I'm just as anxious to get to that as you are – I've had a plan for that event ever since I started writing this story – but I'm trying not to rush though this (I've had the tendency to do so in the past when I wanted to get to a certain part of a story and have been called on it many times!)_

_It was never my intention to make Legolas appear helpless – in fact, a part of the reason why the last chapter gave me so much trouble was because I was taking great pains to avoid it. I don't believe I said or implied that pregnant people or women in general (which Legolas is _not_) are helpless in any way; Legolas was waiting for the right moment to fight back, not for a rescue. No reasonable pregnant person would dive into a fight unarmed against a crazy person with a knife without weighing all possible other options first. Had he not had to worry about the baby, there wouldn't have been a question that he would fight immediately. Legolas just isn't the impulsive type most of the time and in my opinion that makes him strong, not weak. _

_I don't know for sure how many chapters are left - I'm not far ahead enough in my writing to determine that. Best guess is around the same as What is Meant to Be, maybe between 35 and 40 chapters total. But don't quote me on that..._


	27. A bitter pill to swallow

This was absolutely the final straw. It had to be; how much more could Cirion be expected to endure? He'd already suffered through disappointment, insult, and utter disgrace – not to mention the terrible strain of being forced to move his family out of their ancestral home – with as much restraint as he could muster. Well, no more of that! Word had just reached him that Nienor, his only child and hope for the family's further advancement in society, had been arrested for attempting to kill Prince Legolas and his child.

Cirion growled under his breath as he silently recounted the details told to him by the messenger – or rather, the truth hidden by the prince's lies. The messenger had _claimed_ that she was in good condition, well treated by the healers after Prince Legolas and some interfering dwarf had been forced to physically subdue her. Hah! What that meant was that Nienor had been brutalized by the elf and the latest dwarf he'd taken a mind to enthrall; knocked unconscious and received only the minimal efforts at the Houses of Healing before being locked away in the dungeons like some commoner.

What had happened to her – and by extension of familial connections, to him – was even more difficult to bear when he thought of the reasons of _why_ it happened. It couldn't be more obvious, as far as he was concerned: Prince Legolas was jealous of his daughter, for she possessed the grace, charm, and refinement of a proper spouse while he could never be anything more than a trollop with a royal title. The knowledge of this gnawed constantly at the elf, boiling over when he came upon her in the garden that was supposed to be for everyone but was really only his. In his rage he'd accused Nienor of those undignified crimes and King Elessar, being King Elessar, had believed him without question. _'What that so-called prince did not count on,'_ thought Cirion with furious satisfaction, _'was the fact that I will no longer just sit back and accept whatever his vengeful mind has in store for me!'_

He was intent on confronting the royal couple, once and for all revealing Prince Legolas' manipulations in such excruciating details that not even the king could deny them any longer. Several guards were spread across the courtyard of the citadel, warily watching him run up to the entrance. Upon coming to the door that led inside, however, he found that it was barred against him. One lone guard stood firmly in his way, hands gripping his sword and a stern expression on his face. "You may not enter," the guard informed Cirion, his clipped and grave tone making it clear that he would not compromise on the matter.

"I am a lord of Gondor," replied Cirion testily as his anger level rose to new heights. Denied entrance, as if he were an Easterling or Haradrim – why, even the commoners of Gondor were allowed to walk inside the building! "My citizenship of Gondor is enough to give me access to the citadel; those with such a title as 'lord' are allowed to walk about inside at will, excepting the parts that the royal couple claim as their private quarters. The rule of Gondor depends on people of high blood continuing to have that liberty."

"It is my understanding that you have nothing to do with the rule of Gondor now, and even your citizenship of our realm is debatable," said the unmoved guard. "And I doubt that you wish to enter with the purpose of seeing it one last time before your exile begins. The only business you have, then, would be discussing your daughter with the king and the prince. On my life, that's not going to happen today; the lady's put them through enough already. If I had any say in the matter, she'd have been strung up on the spot for all of her treachery."

"Do not speak of her in such a manner," bristled Cirion threateningly. How dare a Man with no noble blood to speak of pass judgment on a noblewoman such as Nienor? "I need to see them at once in order to ensure that all of this inflammatory, ridiculous gossip about my daughter cease immediately. Then I will be willing to listen to that elf grovel for her forgiveness – and mine."

The guard's eyes narrowed as he squared his shoulders and planted his feet. "You don't have permission to pass," he hissed forcefully. "Now that you've insulted my prince so blatantly I feel justified in swearing that I will break both of your legs before I let you so much as catch a glimpse of him!"

Cirion chuckled darkly. "You too?" he sneered. "Are you in love with him from afar, or are you one of the potential sires to that spawn growing in his stomach?"

"I love the prince as I love the king and the realm," responded the guard through gritted teeth, slowly drawing his sword. "If you had one notion of what that is like you wouldn't be exiled and your daughter wouldn't be a murderous little wench. Now get out of here before I lose all control and run you through."

"Run me through? I doubt you possess the nerve."

"Stop this at once!" ordered another guard, Beren, as he threw himself between his colleague and the lord. "Would you draw blood in the courtyard of the citadel for nothing more than the insults of someone that all know to be bitter and untruthful?" he scolded the guard before turning to Cirion. "And you, my lord; it would probably be best for _everyone_ if you waited to obtain an audience with the king and prince until –"

"When? Until when?" challenged Cirion. "I am leaving Gondor for good in less than a week; will I be forced to leave my daughter behind to rot? I refuse to allow that to happen!"

"And we cannot let you come inside," countered Beren.

They were getting nowhere and every moment wasted debating with those beneath him was another moment that Nienor had to spend in that dank cell. "If you insisted on being so thick-headedly stubborn," said Cirion, implicitly offering the two Men one final chance to be reasonable and cooperate with him. When no sympathy or leniency came to either one of their faces or body language, the lord glowered and raised his voice to a yell: "Then I will shout to anyone who can hear me about this grave injustice! My daughter has been falsely accused without evidence and now the royal couple will not answer for it!"

"You might as well lower your voice," scoffed the guard in disgust. "Everyone already knows what the lady did and that every word that passes through your mouth is nothing but a noxious fume. For the sake of the Valar, have a little dignity!"

"How can I when I have been stripped of all of it?" shouted Cirion in response. "All by an elf who sees me as a threat and a king who only knows to do whatever the elf tells him to do. Once the prince had chipped away all that made me great he turned his malice onto my innocent child, and _someone_ is going to listen to me!"

"All right; just be quiet!" snapped Beren with a deadly glare.

The other guard let out an outraged gasp. "Have you lost all of your senses?" he demanded indignantly. "That man is not to step one foot inside the citadel!"

"I swear on the lives of my family and the glory of Gondor that he won't," Beren told him. "Yet leaving him to run amuck in the streets won't do either, and the blood of one Gondorian should never be spilled by another. The only thing left to do is for you to go to the king. Tell him that Lord Cirion is creating a commotion in the courtyard demanding to see him about the lady, and ask him for what he thinks is an appropriate response."

"I would rather stay here while someone else does that," replied the guard sullenly, casting an evil stare at Cirion.

"He won't get inside the citadel," reiterated Beren firmly. "And if he does, he'll have to pass by you before getting to King Elessar and Prince Legolas. If you see him in there, I will be dead and you'll have all the proof you need that he's a murdering traitor. _Then_ you can run him through."

Cirion scowled at the guard as he gave him one last warning look before reluctantly sprinting off. It was best not to dwell on him, though; the other guard that was taking up his position in front of the door showed some signs of reason. Perhaps he could talk him into letting him pass. "While I admire your commitment, however misplaced, I must point out that I am not some commoner, here to beg at the king's door for his judgment on the ownership of livestock," he said, sounding affronted and (he hoped) persuasive at the same time. "You could at least all me to accompany that…guard while he delivers the message."

"Are you kidding me?" the guard's voice rose to an incredulous squeak. "Are you aware of all of the stupid moves that some of the other guards have done while guarding the king or the prince, or both? One of those geniuses turned away the Lords Elladan and Elrohir when they had news about Prince Legolas' pregnancy, only to be intimidated into letting King Thranduil into them a few minutes later. He also didn't inform them when King Eomer and the Rohirrim arrived – causing them, especially the king,great embarrassment – and even burst in on them at an inappropriate time. Two others tried to hinder the hobbits from entering into an advisors' council meeting when Master Brandybuck had discovered an important hint about the poisoner's identity. Not to mention those four fools who left Prince Legolas alone just now to fight off a crazy person when he's almost eight months pregnant. No, Lord Cirion," he concluded, crossing his arms. "No one's getting past me without the king's expressed or understood permission."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

While the guards grappled with Cirion outside, things weren't any more peaceful inside the royal bedchamber. "Would you at least consider lying down for the rest of the afternoon?" Aragorn asked Legolas with more than a hint of a plea in his tone. "What harm would be done by giving yourself a little time to recover?"

"I'm sorry if I don't see getting a scratch a sufficient reason for lazing about," retorted Legolas irritably. Intellectually he knew that Aragorn was just feeling helpless, coping with that the only way he knew how by trying to take care of him. The less generous part of him was annoyed to no end. "Ioreth determined that I was fine – something you could have just trusted my word on without hassling her – and Sam's made me an excellent lunch, which I finished. There is no reason why I would benefit from doing nothing for the rest of the day. That's what I've _been_ doing all week and it's driving me insane."

Sitting anxiously in a nearby chair, Thranduil cleared his throat to draw the squabbling couple's attention. "I must agree with Aragorn," he said. He couldn't blame them for looking astonished; though they had come a long way from the time when Aragorn blabbered nervously whenever he was around, the elven king himself was still somewhat surprised by what he'd just proclaimed. "It is not the physical trauma that you need to be concerned about, Little Greenleaf. This whole affair has been an emotionally taxing experience and you have been enduring it for over a week. Do not push yourself to recover before you are ready."

Fantastic; now he had to battle this point out on two fronts. Legolas frowned stubbornly. "I'm fine! Stop treating me like some fragile –"

A sharp knock on the door interrupted his tirade; which was probably a good thing since nothing he could say would have convinced them to concede. He would've only grown more hostile and irate until he said something that would have felt extremely gratifying now and he'd end up regretting later. Aragorn, for one, was grateful for a reason _not_ to continue with the debate. "Enter!" the king called.

The door creaked open and one of the guards appeared. "I apologize for intruding, King Elessar, Prince Legolas," he began with a bow, offering an obligatory nod in Thranduil and Gimli's direction as well. "There is a situation in the courtyard – not one that requires your personal attention, but we do request that you order us in what we should do about it."

"What kind of situation?" demanded Aragorn, annoyed that the duties that went along with being a ruler might once again drag him away from his husband. He tried to think of all the different scenarios that would compel a guard to disturb them in the first place. It most likely didn't have anything to do with the advisors, as he'd sent out a brief message to them stating that Legolas' would-be assassin had been captured and that they'd meet the next day before lunch to discuss what was going to happen next. Word undoubtedly had spread quickly about Nienor's arrest but he couldn't believe that any large number of Gondor's citizenry would be expecting details this soon, let alone be gathering in the courtyard to demand them. The foreign dignitaries might want apologies for being placed under suspicion – which he would be happy to offer – but all of them were seasoned politicians and knew better than to bother him about it now. That would leave…. "It's Lord Cirion, isn't it?"

The guard had to stop himself from spitting at the sound of his name. "He just showed up, demanding to talk to you and the prince about the lady like he was the most important thing in all the lands," he reported. "Said some other stuff too that was really awful. When we refused to let him in he started yelling, telling us that he was going to create a scene until he was allowed to see you."

"What an appropriate response – for an ill-mannered toddler," muttered Gimli.

"He's going to want to know all of what happened," added Legolas thoughtfully.

"Well, I am not available to see anyone today, especially not him," declared Aragorn with absolutely no sympathy in his voice. "If he wants answers about his loved-one's well being, let him wait for a week like I had to."

Legolas bit his lower lip, debating if he should speak up and open another can of worms or else play it safe and keep his thoughts to himself. The debate lasted all of a second – he was never very good at not expressing his opinions. "My love? May I have a private word with you?" he requested, sitting down at the foot of the bed. Aragorn nodded his consent and walked over, taking his place next to him. "Don't dismiss him so completely."

"Who? Cirion?" Aragorn was bewildered. "I know you're feeling better than anyone that heard me carrying on would believe, but do you really think that we should have to put up with his bile right now?"

"No," Legolas told him, glancing over at the waiting guard before looking his husband squarely in the eyes. "I think that you should let Lord Cirion see Lady Nienor."

This was ridiculous – why was Legolas going out of his way to act as an advocate for the very people who'd done everything in their power to destroy their lives on numerous occasions? "You can't be serious," breathed Aragorn slowly.

Legolas held his forehead in one hand. "Please, Aragorn; don't ask me to get into all of this with the guard needing your response," he pleaded, feeling a little worn out all of the sudden. "Just trust my judgment and do this for me, all right? I'll even rest like you want me to – for an hour."

"I don't want to blackmail you into lying down," replied Aragorn dubiously, growing really concerned. Letting himself be treated so protectively was a real blow to Legolas' pride; that he would agree to do it for Cirion and Nienor's sake baffled Aragorn.

"Mela, you should know me well enough to realize that this is the only it's going to happen," was Legolas' cheeky reply.

Aragorn still wasn't sure. "Legolas…"

"For me," repeated the elf. "Please."

"As you wish," Aragorn finally gave in. With one last long look at his husband, the Man rose and addressed the guard: "We will not see Lord Cirion now, but I order you to escort him to his daughter's cell. Do not, under any circumstances, leave them alone –"

"Privacy," Legolas whispered loudly to him.

" – but you don't need to be standing right next to them the entire time either," amended Aragorn tensely. Making all of these allowances for two of his least favorite people really irked him. He would do it for Legolas, of course, but he didn't have to like it. "And if Lord Cirion is dissatisfied with that, well, still take him to his daughter's cell; just put him into the one next to it."

"Yes, your majesty," said the guard, hoping that the lord complained about the king's ruling. One little word and he would be allowed to lock him up. With that happy thought bouncing through his mind, the guard bowed low and left.

Gimli and Thranduil had shared a startled look when they'd heard Legolas speak up on behalf of Cirion and Nienor. It was quite a feat that the dwarf had been able to hold his tongue until the guard was gone. "Privacy?" he repeated, staring at Legolas as if he'd suddenly grown two heads. "They'd only use it to scheme how they would take you down once and for all. What's gotten into you, laddie?"

"It's hard to explain –"

"Try," his father urged.

"Yes, please do," concurred Aragorn grimly. "I just ordered a guard that is supposed to be protecting us to give the person who tried to kill you and the Man who slandered you their space to talk in secret. I don't understand how you could want that, mela. How could you care about either one of them?"

"It's not exactly like that," protested Legolas as he felt attacked on all sides. "In the garden today – while I was waiting for a distraction – I know she should – and I'm not saying – oh" – Legolas fisted his hands in frustration. There was no way that he could put this that would make them understand now, so all he could do was be blunt. "I feel sorry for her."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

That elf had done it again. Cirion stewed in his anger for the entire walk to the dungeons, down into the bowels where his daughter was being held. The _ever-compassionate_ Prince Legolas had lied to put Nienor behind bars and then made a production of showing the guard that it was only by his mercy that the lord was allowed to see her. Putting up with the guard's endless prattling about how generous the prince was to those who didn't deserve to be the dirt under his boot had been a trial, but he could somewhat let go of that when he finally caught sight of his daughter in her cell.

"Father!" she exclaimed in surprise when she noticed his presence, jumping up and grasping the bars.

"Greetings, Nienor," Cirion returned gravely before glaring at the guard. The insufferable Man glared back, but backed away nonetheless.

When he was a sufficient distance away, Cirion stepped forward and placed his hands over hers. "This is so awful," she lamented. "What I have gone through; you must believe that this is not my fault."

"There is no need for that, my dear," said Cirion. "I know that this is the prince's doing."

"He has taken so much from me," she sniveled as her lips quivered.

"I know," soothed Cirion. He caressed her wrists with his fingers and jumped a little when she let out a quiet yelp. Upon examining them closer, he was horrified to see a prominent bruise around one of them. "What happened here?"

"Prince Legolas grabbed me."

So the jealous creature had attacked his innocent daughter and then accused her of those heinous crimes to cover it up! "I am not surprised," he told her fiercely. "This behavior is typical of any uncouth lover envious of a demure wife!"

She nodded vigorously. "He would have pried the knife out of my hands in the next second had I not been rendered unconscious."

"Well, I will not – what?" Cirion's blood ran cold when he realized what she'd just admitted.

"That is right," she stated emphatically, oblivious to her father's horrified expression. "I went there to kill him and his half-breed spawn and he refused to cooperate, just like before."

"Before…when you poisoned him?"

"Yes."

Cirion was aghast. "Oh Nienor, why?"

"So that I could get my husband back," declared Nienor with all righteousness. That she'd done anything wrong had never once occurred to her. "You always said that I would marry Gondor's most powerful man and you are always true to your word. It was that elf's fault that I was denied my birthright. I did not want to do anything so unladylike but it was the only way that I could make everything be as it should be again. I miss having you as a father."

"I – I – do not understand," stammered Cirion, his mind reeling. "How have I ceased being your father?"

"You are the father of the future wife of Gondor's most powerful man," she reminded him. There was no blame in her tone; for Nienor had long ago accepted this as fact. "Not mine; never Nienor's father. But once Prince Legolas and his baby were gone, I was supposed to have the chance to be queen again. I only want to make you happy, Father."

A million things rushed through Cirion's mind at that moment. The way he'd interacted with the king, the prince, and the advisors danced along the outsides of his memory, but mostly he thought of the time he spent with Nienor as a child: teaching her to remain quiet and demure around men of power, telling her what the right words for a wife to say to a husband, showing her all of the manners and mannerisms of a proper wife. By the Valar, had he ever spent any time with her that didn't involve her perfect-spouse "training"? Through all of that, one devastating thought slammed forward, almost bringing him to his knees:

'_What have I done?'_

To be continued…

_A/N: Over 500 reviews! Thanks so much; I'm completely blown away._


	28. Seeking understanding

The glorious garden was a place where nature could grow within the walls of the stone city; and grow it did, with lush grass, brilliantly colored flowers, and strong trees that promised to become even more robust in the years to come. It was a piece of the elven world – particularly that of Rivendell and what Mirkwood must have been like when it was still called Greenwood – so that the world of Men wouldn't wholly lose that loveliness as the last days of the Eldar race ended. Legolas had spent a great deal of time selecting just the right trees, flowers, and plants; and even more time nurturing them, or seeing that they were nurtured, in a way that only a wood elf could. It was not an exaggeration to say that the garden was counted among the most beautiful spots in all of Gondor and all of Middle-earth. Walking through it that day with his husband, however, Aragorn couldn't help but hate the place.

Legolas had been aware of his husband's dour mood ever since he'd announced his desire to visit his garden again that morning. Figuring that it was only the result of some leftover fears from the events of the previous day, he'd been very happy when Aragorn offered to accompany him. Being outside always made _him _feel refreshed and strong and he hoped that Aragorn would cheer once they began their walk. Unfortunately, he was apparently set on clinging to his dark cloud.

Legolas glowered inwardly as he watched his husband glare at his beloved trees. "You don't have to be here, Aragorn," he said with a touch more hostility than what the situation called for. Dealing with Aragorn, Thranduil, and Gimli's even more overbearing protectiveness since yesterday afternoon had left him on edge and he didn't like the notion of his husband inviting himself along on the walk he'd wanted to take to get _away_ from all that only to ask him to tolerate it some more.

"I didn't have be here yesterday either," pointed out Aragorn, jumping as a light wind rustled some leaves. "Andthat turned out to be more dangerous than any of us anticipated."

"So you came along to protect me from the evil wind?" Legolas snapped sarcastically. "Well, I don't need it or you here if you're going to act like this. I'm just fine on my own."

"I want to spend some time with you," countered Aragorn through gritted teeth, trying his very best not to yell at his spouse. After all, he did understand why the elf wasn't in the greatest of moods. It was terrible to have his favorite spot in the city become the place where he could have died. Or it must have been; Aragorn didn't know because all he got when he asked Legolas how he was feeling was a curt 'I'm fine.' "I just don't see why you wanted to come back here. It has to be terrifying, Legolas."

"This is my garden," Legolas shot back. "Just because one poor woman tried to attack me here doesn't mean that I'll be frightened away permanently. She's in the dungeons now and all is right and good in the city again. I doubt that someone will attempt a similar attack so soon so I don't need you to be here when you clearly don't want to be."

"What is wrong with you? Can't you see that I'm here because I'm worried about you?" snapped Aragorn before he could stop himself. Legolas looked taken aback and the Man bit his lower lip, chastising himself for losing control of his emotions like that. "I'm worried about you," he repeated in a more gentle tone. "I know that you're not in immediate danger anymore; yet I can't let this go. Losing you and our son would kill me, Legolas, and everything in this garden reminds me of how that could have happened yesterday. I'm trying not to let those feelings interfere with how I'm acting, but I can't help it."

Legolas' irritation ebbed somewhat; guilt mingled with it as he looked over at Aragorn again. "I'm sorry, Aragorn," he apologized, his voice still a little sharp but not without sincerity. "I guess I was thinking so much about how much I didn't like the way you were acting that I didn't consider the reasons why you were doing what you were doing. You went through this ordeal too; I was wrong to ignore that."

"Don't worry about what I've been through and what I'm going through," Aragorn told him, taking his hand to make him halt on the path. "That's not important now. I promised that I would be strong for you, remember? Just focus on what you need and I will take care of you."

One step forward, two steps back; Legolas was stunned that he was able to hold back the aggravated retort on his tongue. "No; I don't accept that," he replied in a serious, even tone as he looked straight into his husband's eyes. "We _both _faced the tiniest, slightest, horrible chance of losing our child; why then must one of us be forced to be the strong one all the time? Why can't we just be there for each other? It was like that before: you helped me get through the darkness of Moria and I helped you face your fears about your bloodline and responsibilities."

"Oh Legolas." Aragorn felt a stinging moisture in his eyes and he struggled to keep it from spilling over. "We just – these last few months – can we please talk to each other like we used to? I can't remember the last time we spoke to each other."

"It's not the actual speaking that's been the problem," noted Legolas with a sadnessin his voice.

"I know," agreed Aragorn, asking himself once more how things could have gotten to this point between him and Legolas. "I make promises to you, you make promises to me, and we come together when one of our lives is in danger or were just in jeopardy. Ijust want to have an actual conversation."

"Name a topic," Legolas told him. "Anything, no matter how uncomfortable it may be. We're in danger of becoming strangers, like so many of the married noble couples are and I can't stand it. This concealing of emotions and the hostility it causes – I don't want it to be a part of our relationship anymore. Tell me anything or ask me anything and I will give you an honest answer."

Only one thing came to Aragorn's mind. "Why do you feel sorry for Lady Nienor?" he asked. That particular question had been plaguing him ever since Legolas had intervened on Cirion's behalf. "Even after the guard had left you still refused to answer why you felt that way. I don't understand how you could possibly have any sympathy for her whatsoever. Maybe…maybe I'm more worried about what that than I am about you being attacked again."

"I didn't think that you were ready to listen and understand yesterday," explained Legolas sagely. "All of the questions – from all three of you – started with 'what' and 'how could'; it sounded like accusations and I was defensive because of it. Your 'why' puts me more at ease."

"Then please tell me, my love."

"She said that her father didn't want to be her father, but rather the father of the queen," recounted Legolas; he could still here the lady's desperate, miserable voice in his mind. "She felt as if she'd disappointed him; as if just being his daughter wasn't good enough. I think that she believed that she was somehow hurting Lord Cirion by not being your wife, or having the possibility of being your wife."

"That's no excuse for what she did," said Aragorn. Understanding his husband's emotions wasn't the same thing as understanding Lady Nienor's, he reasoned, and he wasn't in the mood to be as forgiving as Legolas. "I can't pardon her because she had a lousy father."

"I'm not asking you to," insisted Legolas, downcast again as he mentally searched for an effective way to put all of his feelings so that Aragorn would truly understand. "She deserves to be punished; I'm not _excusing_ her by thinking that she's not purely evil. You might not be able to imagine what she was going through – have you ever felt like you were hurting your father simply by being what you are?"

"No," conceded Aragorn. His relationship with Elrond had always been loving and if the elf lord ever felt disappointed or despondent about what his foster son was he'd never let revealed it to Aragorn. Perhaps that was part of the reason why he couldn't emphasize with the would-be assassin; of course, if Legolas understood her motivations, it meant…. "But you have?"

Legolas nodded wordlessly. "But that's absurd!" Aragorn cried. "Legolas, I've never seen a more devoted father than Thranduil. You are his life, the center of his world –"

"And I'm going to kill him one day," interrupted Legolas with that painful admission. "I will never regret my decision to become mortal because I loveyou and it was the only way that we could be together, but this is harder on Ada than it is on you or me. Death is always more devastating on the ones left behind than the ones who are leaving. He'll linger in a land that he knows he no longer belongs in until he sees the light extinguish from my eyes and then cross to Valinor, either by ship or by death from grief. There I will be but a memory of something sundered from him forever, or else a pain that not even the Blessed Realm can heal. How can I not think that I'm hurting him?"

Aragorn embraced him in strong, comforting arms. "What she did was wrong," said Legolas as he wrapped his own arms around his husband in return, "but when I think about it that way I can't help but feel sorry for her."

There were no words that the Man could offer that would change how Legolas was feeling and somewhere in the back of his mind andAragorn understood this. However, he hated the idea of leaving the elf to his misery without attempting to console him. "Don't let yourself think that way," he counseled. "You shouldn't feel –"

Legolas tensed and tore himself away. "Don't," he said hotly. "You have no right to tell me how I should and shouldn't feel. I thought that you wanted to understand, but no; you just wanted to try and 'fix' it. Well, I don't need anyone to tell me who to feel compassion for, or at what stage of supposed recovery I should be at – I don't want to be protected from things that are unpleasant! If I did, I would have just stayed in Mirkwood."

"Well maybe I wouldn't do that if you would open up to me," responded Aragorn with a mixture of desperation, frustration, and confusion.

"I just did, and you –"

"My lords?" Faramir cleared his throat as he approached them with Eowyn at his side.

"Faramir," said Aragorn, his voice shaking as he tried to rein in his emotions once again. He nodded at him and then at his wife in greeting. "Eowyn."

She nodded back and looked at Legolas with a shocked look on her face. Faramir couldn't blame her for her reaction – the king and the prince were such a loving couple. Even during those last few tense months he never imagined that they would ever be so at odds that they'd be arguing in a public place. "Pardon the interruption, but the council meeting will begin in a few minutes," he said apologetically. "They'll need to be informed about everything that happened yesterday before we can discuss a suitable punishment for Lady Nienor."

Itsounded crazy but Aragorn didn't want his fight with Legolas to end so abruptly. It was the first time in months that one of them hadn't been trying to protect the other and in a strange way it felt good. At least they still had enough passion for each other to yell; he had a feeling that if they could get all of the negative emotions out in the open they could actually start talking again. "Maybe we could push the meeting back to this afternoon."

"Go." Legolas' command was full of regret and acceptance rather than bitterness. "The politics of Gondor can't come to a halt whenever we want it to. Any delay in the meeting might be interpreted in a detrimental way. Remember, there are going to be some people who won't want to believe that a noblewoman could have done something so – _unladylike_. We can pick this up later."

Aragorn tentatively reached out and touched his husband's face, happy when Legolas didn't recoil. "We _will_ talk later," he vowed. "Tonight, please; I have a surprise for you."

"All right," said Legolas and a small, teasing smile came to his lips. "But only because of the surprise."

"I knew that you wouldn't be able to resist that," Aragorn told him. "I look forward to it; I really do." With one last soft caress and hopeful smile at the decidedly not angry look in Legolas' eyes the Man departed with Faramir.

Eowyn barely waited until they were out of sight before turning to her friend. "Legolas –"

"I don't want to talk about it, Eowyn," the elf cut her off wearily. "Getting into all of the reasons why we were just fighting would be a long and exhaustive ordeal for both of us."

"I wasn't going to mention it," she said. "It sounded like you two were working through it just fine; sometimes you need a knock-down-drag-out fight before you can start dealing with everything else."

"Oh," said Legolas, feeling a little sheepish at his assumptions. "Then what were you going to say?"

She leaned in a little closer. "Tell me that I didn't hear you correctly," Eowyn requested emphatically. "You don't actually feel sorry for the person who tried to kill you and your baby, do you?"

"She believed that her father would never love her unless she was married to Aragorn," replied Legolas defensively, a little surprised at her incredulous reaction.

"So? That's no excuse for what she did!"

"I'm not _excusing_ Lady Nienor!" Legolas burst out in frustration. He was so sick of everyone he cared about talking down to him as if he didn't understand the gravity of the lady's crimes! Was it too much to ask that _one_ person at least accept his feelings without acting like they were evidence that he needed some sort of emotional intervention? "It's not as if I'm marching down to her cell right now to let her go with a hug and a kind word. But all of her life she's been defined by her position in society and in her family, pushed into fulfilling everyone's lofty expectations without having anyone ask her if that's what she wanted. I would think that you of all people could understand that, Eowyn."

"I do," Eowyn insisted, forcing her tone to remain calm. Legolas had obviously had enough of debating this topic and it wasn't worth upsetting him about it now. However, the Rohirric woman couldn't just leave her own thoughts unspoken. "Being bound by my duties to my family and my country, dealing with Wormtongue poisoning my uncle's mind and banishing Eomer. Never in my life have I felt so helpless and confined by the image of who I was supposed to be. I doubt that Lady Nienor's ever endured anything so terrible, though she might believe that she has in her own mind. Did I ever contemplate running a sword through Wormtongue's treacherous throat? Did I ever resent the way my uncle and brother just dismissed me without acknowledging my skills as a warrior? Of course! But I never harmed any of them in the throes of a snit. I'm sorry, Legolas; I understand what she must have went through but I can't feel any sympathy for her. If I could handle it, she could have too."

Legolas looked at her knowingly. "Maybe she isn't as strong as you are."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

The king and the steward had reached the courtyard after a silent walk from the garden; Aragorn would have marched right through it if Faramir hadn't cautiously grasped his shoulder. "Sire?" he asked. Aragorn jumped with surprise. "I'm sorry I startled you."

"I guess I forgot that anyone else was around," Aragorn told him, sucking in a deep breath. "My mind's just somewhere else right now."

"Back on that, ah, discussion you were having with Legolas?" Faramir didn't need an answer to that question – the expression on Aragorn's face said it all. "Eowyn and I couldn't help overhearing."

"Half of Minas Tirith probably couldn't help overhearing," commented Aragorn dryly.

"It's better than not having anything to say to each other at all," said Faramir wisely. "I was just wondering if you'd like to take a moment to collect your feelings before you have to discuss Lady Nienor's trial and possible punishments."

Aragorn nodded, feeling a little more shaken than he'd ever admit. "That would be nice," he agreed with a flustered smile. "Not for long; I just need to clear my head."

He walked blindly to the nearest platform – Faramir following close behind – and sank down with his head in his hands. They sat together quietly for a second before he looked up again; that was when he took note of the particular location he'd chosen. "This is where Legolas and I announced to everyone that we were going to have a child," he recalled pensively, staring up at the White Tree. "That night was so special and wonderful. He – he wore a tunic that was a little too tight so that everyone could see how much his stomach was bulging."

"I remember," said Faramir with a Mithrandir-like bemusement. "It caused a bit of a stir at the banquet before the announcement with people speculating if the rumors were true or not."

"That was one of the happiest moments in both of our lives. Legolas and I had wanted a child so badly and – and _she tried to take that away_." Angry, frustrated, and confused tears slipped out of his eyes. "She was going to take our son away from him – both of them away from me – and he feels sorry for her. How could he? How is it possible for anyone who respects our marriage to have any sympathy for that woman?"

Faramir stirred uncomfortably. "Perhaps you don't want me to answer that right now," he hedged.

"You?" Aragorn asked, dumbfounded and feeling a little betrayed. "Well then, I think I'll ask you: why do you and Legolas – two intelligent people and good judges of character – feel anything but anger toward that venomous snake? She tried to kill my husband and baby!" he added with a roar, relieved deep down that his fury at the whole situation finally had an outlet, no matter how unfair to Faramir it was. "How could you –"

"Because I was going to take the Ring from Frodo!" shot back Faramir with an unexpected surge of ferocity.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"It's got everything to do with why I feel sorry for her," explained the steward, hanging his head. The shame he felt over his actions over four years ago still weighed heavily on him; needless to say, it certainly wasn't his favorite topic of discussion. "I wanted my father's affirmation, his _love_, so badly that I almost sent the One Ring into his possession. It was wrong and somewhere within me I knew that; yet I still ordered my men to take my 'mighty gift' to him. Can you even bear to imagine what the outcome of the war would have been if that had happened?"

"It didn't, though," argued Aragorn. "You resisted when it counted."

"Because a certain Samwise Gamgee was bold enough to tell me why I shouldn't," countered Faramir forlornly. "That was the first time that someone had ever dared to imply that it would be better for me not to try to be what my father wanted from a son. I doubt that anyone did the same for Lady Nienor when it became apparent that living up to her father's lofty expectations by marrying you wasn't an option."

Aragorn still wasn't quite ready to accept this rationalization. "I grant that she didn't have the best father in all the lands," he said, "but I'd wager that yours was more difficult and still you managed to overcome it. We are but the results of the choices that we make."

"But what about Boromir?" Faramir asked suddenly. "He made the choice to take the Ring and that's exactly what he tried to do; yet you honor his memory enough to have once considered naming your child and the heir of the realm after him."

"Because he repented his actions at the end," Aragorn stressed. "Besides, I knew how demanding Denethor was; his expectations" – he cut himself off as he realized what he was saying. "A parent's expectations can make a child feel very – guilty; desperate even. Legolas was talking about that too."

Nodding dryly, Faramir noted, "They can be hard to let go of." He looked up at the citadel, then back at his king. "You don't have to forgive her, feel sorry for her, and you most definitely shouldn't pardon her. But as the king, it is your duty to judge her in the same way that you would if her intended victims were strangers. But, of course, since this is the first time anyone has threatened your family personally, as the king you must also send a message."

"So you're advising me to find an appropriate punishment while keeping her plight in mind without appearing too lenient, all while keeping my own personal feelings in check?" Aragorn pinched the bridge of his noise as a headache come on. "Something that keeps my husband's feelings on the matter in mind while at the same time letting everyone know that I will tolerate no one hurting my family. Does such a punishment even exist?"

"I don't know," answered Faramir with all honesty. "That's part of the reason why I'm glad that the king officially returned a short time after I took on the stewardship: that sort of decision would torment me to no end. Thankfully you don't have to make it today."

"You're right," said Aragorn, relieved. "Today I'll just listen to what my advisors have to say and concentrate on getting to tonight. Maybe it will be easier to wrap my mind around all of this after I have a long overdue talk with my husband."

To be continued…

_A/N: For those of you who are waiting, the next chapter is very Aragorn/Legolas, and they'll actually be together and not just present. Hang in there a little while longer!_


	29. Not always rainbows and butterflies

_A/N: Time to give credit where credit is due: the title of this chapter is a line taken from the song "She Will Be Loved" by Maroon 5. I won't write the entire song, but here's the relevant portion:_

_Tap on my window, knock on my door_

_I want to make you feel beautiful_

_I know I tend to get so insecure_

_It doesn't matter anymore_

_It's not always rainbows and butterflies_

_It's compromise that moves us along_

_My heart is full and my door's always open_

_You can come anytime you want _

Like most elves, Legolas possessed a keen eyesight that well surpassed that of any other races; it was something he'd relied on often in the darkness of Mirkwood and he'd come to appreciate it all the more ever since he began living among Men. Being robbed of it, then – even if it was only by his husband's hand and therefore easily remedied with a panicked word or sharp elbow in Aragorn's side – was disconcerting to say the least. "Why do you have to do this again?" he asked, instinctively moving his head from side to side a little in order to escape the blindness.

Aragorn kept his hand firmly in place while he continued to guide Legolas toward the place where they'd be spending the night. "It's a surprise, remember?" he asked with a hint of teasing in his voice. "And one I've been planning for almost two days at that. If I didn't cover your eyes you'd probably spot it a good several minutes before I'm ready to reveal it to you. Do you really want all of my plans to come to naught?"

"Of course not, but it's nighttime," argued Legolas, whining dramatically. He was actually quite willing to go along with whatever Aragorn had in mind even though it was in his nature to give his husband a good-natured ribbing whenever was appropriate. _'Anyway,'_ he reasoned, _'we might as well get all of this in right now.'_ He had the feeling that this walk would be the last chance they'd get to play with each other in such a manner before they had to delve into the more sober topics that had been plaguing their relationship for awhile.

"Would anything but the pitch-black of the night sky keep you from seeing farther ahead than I can?" Aragorn demanded with playful exasperation.

"No."

"And is the sky tonight absolutely dark, no light at all?"

Legolas turned his face upwards, pretending to peer between the Man's fingers. "No – there is light," he sighed contentedly, for elves loved the beauty of the night and he was no exception. "There is a gorgeous moon and the stars of Elbereth are shining down on us as brightly as they did the first time the Eldar race beheld them. Oh Aragorn, is it really necessary for me to walk blindly? I would like to take in as much of this as I can before we retire to the citadel."

"That might happen a little later than you think," replied Aragorn mysteriously, practically bursting at the seams in his effort not to blurt out everything to the elf.

Was that so? Legolas was even more intrigued. "Ah, so we'll be spending a great deal of time outdoors tonight," he said knowingly. What had his husband planned? Was it a late-night picnic dinner under the stars? Had he sanctioned another lot of land to be space for a garden? Was it something for the baby? "I'll take another hint, if you don't mind."

"Another hint, hmmmm? What if I think you're getting a little too demanding, asking for something like that?" Aragorn was clearly enjoying himself. While he had come a long way from those days of childhood in Rivendell, a part of him would always be little Estel, the Man child who so enjoyed it when he knew something that an elf didn't because such a thing didn't happen often. He pressed a kiss into Legolas' hair just above his pointed ear as they reached the entrance leading to their destination. "Good evening, Beren."

"What?" asked the baffled Legolas. Did the surprise have something to do with the story of Beren and Luthien? If so, why was Aragorn addressing _him_ as the Man Beren?

"Good evening King Elessar, Prince Legolas," spoke up Beren the guard, suppressing a smile at the sight of the royal couple. His years in the service of Gondor had given him many opportunities to witness how those of high blood interacted with their spouses – or _didn't_ interact, as his observations told him. It was refreshing for him to see two of the noblest blood to do something so 'lowly' as show affection for each other in public. "Everything is just as you requested, sire."

"And how is that?" Legolas questioned eagerly in the direction that the guard's voice was coming in. "Come on now; I'm the prince consort of Gondor and I order you to tell me."

"Listen to how readily he pulls rank to achieve his own selfish ends," tsked Aragorn disapprovingly. "It's one thing to try to coax answers out of me; it's quite another to try to force this loyal guard to choose between obeying his king and obeying his prince. It's a sad moment for all of us, really."

Legolas smirked at – well at no one really, given that the hand over his eyes made moving his head somewhat difficult, but it was meant for Aragorn. "It won't be sad for me if Beren ends this torment once and for all. What say you, good and loyal guard?"

Beren chuckled, albeit a little nervously. He rather enjoyed bearing witness to their loving teasing, but being dragged into their bantering was an entirely different issue. "I would not keep anything for you under normal circumstances, Prince Legolas," he said formally, straightening up though the effect was lost on the temporarily blinded elf. "The only reason that I hold my tongue now is that I do not want to spoil King Elessar's surprise. Therefore, I am afraid that I cannot obey you this time."

"A fine answer; one that should satisfy even this inquisitive and exquisite creature that was foolish enough to marry me," stated Aragorn jovially. He nodded at the guard, giving him leave to return to his duty as he and Legolas continued on to the final steps of their journey.

"I would have to disagree with that," said Legolas in a pointed tone. "An order is an order and I'm going insane with curiosity! Why couldn't you have let him give me one little clue?"

"Because that would have delayed us, and we'd still be standing back there talking to him instead of being – _here_," the Man announced, stopping them suddenly and finally removing his hand for atop of Legolas' eyes.

With his sight restored Legolas could see that they were standing in the middle of a small wooded area on the lowest level of Minas Tirith. It was one of the oldest large areas where nature was allowed to grow within the city walls, though it was seldom visited those days. The people seemed to prefer the newer, more exotic gardens, and more accessible gardens that the elves built, but Legolas had a special place in his heart for that little bit of woods. The trees there were strong and tall, planted long before Legolas had gotten there and would still be there after he was gone; that gave him a certain sense of security that he missed from his years of living in Mirkwood.

Just being in that beloved place, however, was not all of Aragorn's surprise. Legolas caught sight of a recent addition and gasped. "Aragorn," he said, sounding pleasantly shocked, much to the Man's satisfaction, "is that a talan?"

Aragorn looked up ruefully at the platform that sat perched on the lower branches of one of the trees. "Not exactly," he admitted. "It's more of a Mannish interpretation of an elvish talan; and one that was built in less than two days at that. It will support our weight, but it can never match the craftsmanship of the elves. Well, even the most talented carpenter with an infinite amount of time couldn't produce a talan as beautiful as those that were in Lothlorien, but this one will more than due for now."

"I think it's wonderful," breathed Legolas, deeply touched by his husband's thoughtfulness. "I can't describe how much I've missed sleeping outside. Strange, isn't it? The only times I was ever able to do that were when I was in Rivendell, on the Quest, and the few times I traveled out of Mirkwood; and yet…"

"Peace Legolas; you don't have to explain it to me," Aragorn assured him. "I was a ranger for most of my life, remember? I know how you feel. That's why I had this built, though I must say that I got some rather peculiar stares when I made the arrangements with the carpenter."

"I can imagine. The people of Gondor probably aren't used to having a ruler who would choose to sleep outdoors when the luxury of the citadel is a stone's throw away," Legolas started to laugh before he realized what was more likely to be the reason. "Wait; you said that you've been planning this for almost two days, correct?"

"Yes."

"But that was – before Lady Nienor was caught," stammered Legolas.

Smiling wistfully, the Man said: "I wanted you to be happy."

"Elbereth, Aragorn." Legolas didn't know what else he could say in response. The very idea that his irrationally overprotective husband had actually taken it upon himself to find a way for him to be outside stunned him while simultaneously moving him to tears. Moving swiftly, he grabbed Aragorn and pulled him into a kiss. "I can't believe you did this for me."

Aragorn couldn't resist stealing another quick, soft kiss from the elf's lips after they broke apart. "Let's climb up to the talan," he suggested quietly. He hated to leave behind their happy exchange and loving affection, but they weren't there just for that. There were some issues that the couple needed to address before their marriage broke under the strain. "While I'd hoped that our first night spent here would be under more pleasant circumstances – and with any luck there will be time for such things later – we have a conversation to finish."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Legolas was still in fairly good spirits after he and Aragorn had reached their admittedly crude but ultimately fantastic talan. His apprehension about the conversation to come was somewhat alleviated by the peaceful feeling that the wood elf was getting by being in a tree again, as well as finding that despite his protruding stomach and the fact that he hadn't climbed a tree in more than a month he still made it with most of the ease and grace he'd possessed pre-pregnancy. "Well, Aragorn," he said, leaning back against the trunk that was in the perfect position to act as a backrest, "do you want to start this or should I?"

"I would like to, if you don't mind," answered Aragorn after a second of thought. Legolas nodded his consent and the Man took a deep breath. _'This isn't a stranger,' _he reminded himself. _'This is Legolas, your husband, who once instructed you in archery, cherishes the stupid poem you wrote when you were ten, held you true in his heartt hrough years of separation, stayed by your side during a dangerous quest, and loved you enough to sacrifice being with his people. You used to be able to tell him everything.'_

"My behavior," he started, but that wasn't quite how he wanted to begin. "After you – I – Legolas, I've been in a constant state of fear since you collapsed a couple of months ago."

"What?" The elf wasn't entirely shocked to learn that his husband had been experiencing some anxiety, but he had no idea that it was so intense and had been going on for so long. "Why is that, mela? I mean, I understand why you were worried about my health but why didn't it stop after we found out that I was pregnant?"

"Because that was the first time that I ever thought about the possibility that I might outlive you," Aragorn confessed. He was ashamed of himself for it, for it was something that Legolas had dealt with since the moment that the elf had fallen in love with him. However, trying to control and bury his emotions had only heightened – rather than extinguished – them.

"You must understand that I'd never really considered that before," he continued, forcing himself to look him in the eye. "Of course there were always risks when we went into battle but you're such a skilled warrior that – I don't know – you just seemed invincible to me. Even after you became mortal, the thought never occurred to me; all of the anguish and guilt that I was feeling back then was because I knew that you'd die _eventually_. Then Bergil burst into that meeting saying that you'd collapsed and suddenly it was all I could think about. The threat of poisoning just made me feel even more helpless – and worthless as a husband."

"No; you are a most noble spouse," protested Legolas, reaching out to take Aragorn's hand in an attempt to chase away those horrible feelings. "You could have told me all of this. Why did you suffer in silence for so long?"

Aragorn swallowed and looked down. "Because lamenting to you about the possibility of outliving the person I love felt hypocritical," he explained. "I know that you wouldn't judge me like that but I couldn't help judging myself. You've chosen to bear so much pain in order to spend one lifetime loving me; and I was afraid that I was too weak to face the same possibility. Also because you were so intent on protecting me when you started to feel ill – I guess I felt as if you didn't think that I was strong enough to take care of you and I've been trying to disprove that ever since."

"It was never a question of your strength, Aragorn," the prince told him emphatically. "I know that you are more than capable to taking care of whoever needs you to, but I don't need you to. I can take care of myself."

"But you didn't!" Aragorn cried, pulling away from his husband and jumping to his feet. "You didn't know that you were pregnant," he continued as he paced, gesturing frantically with his hands at every word. "You just knew that you'd been experiencing nausea, tiredness, soreness, and mood swings for an extended period of time – you thought you were dying! Did you ever once go to a healer to see if there was any remedy for your illness? No! You just accepted it as inevitable and concentrated on not burdening me with it. That _scared_ me, Legolas; now I don't know whether I can believe you or not when you tell me that you're fine."

"You can! You can, and I never meant to make you question my word," insisted Legolas, his voice thick with emotion. "It's just that…in Mirkwood when I was growing up, Ada did everything he could to shield me from the harshness of life. That was fine when I was an elfling; but then I got old enough to help defend the kingdom and he wouldn't hear of it because he still felt the need to protect me. I thought that if I ever let down my guard once and acted as if I were anything but strong and in control that he'd forever view that as evidence to justify keeping me under lock and key. When you started acting as protective as he was I guess I reverted back to my old defenses."

Despite the gravity of their discussion the king still had to chuckle a little as he sat down facing Legolas once again. "Imagine, me reminding you of Thranduil."

"You have more in common than either of you can see," smiled Legolas. "I understand that's just how Ada is, but by Elbereth I hated it! Do you know that when Gollum escaped he ordered me to lock myself in my room while every other warrior was battling to protect the kingdom? Afterwards I asked him if anyone had been killed and he told me not to worry about it! They were my people too and I cared –"

His voice cut off when he realized what he was saying. "I cared about them and he was more intent on protecting me from their hurts than letting me help them in their time of need," he said slowly. "Which is exactly how I treated you when I didn't tell you that I was feeling sick. I guess I have more in common with Ada that I originally thought as well. I'm so sorry, Aragorn; I never wanted you to feel as frustrated and helpless as I did back then."

"And I never meant to make you feel defensive about your own capabilities," responded Aragorn with tears in his eyes. He pulled Legolas into a tight embrace and exhaled at the feeling of the elf drawing him in even closer. "Well, that was kind of gut wrenching, but we managed to get through it quite nicely. How did we ever let things get to the point where we let the issues that were driving a wedge between us go un-discussed for so long?"

"That couldn't be helped," Legolas told him faintly, concentrating more on how good it felt to hold Aragorn so close again than on what he was saying. "Sometimes it's difficult even for the prince consort to get an audience with the king."

He shifted a little, brought back to reality at the feeling of Aragorn's arms stiffening around him. "I'm sorry, mela; I shouldn't have brought it up like that," he said, easing back away from his husband and running a hand over his face. "It's most definitely not a matter to gloss over or subtly needle you about. This is something that has been bothering me for awhile and it's one of the factors that have been weighing heavily on our marriage: we almost never see each other anymore and I miss you."

"I understand – I miss you too," Aragorn let out a sigh. "Why was I so stubborn? I was so determined not to trust my advisors, not to give them any sort of power over me that I took on governing the kingdom all by myself. I kept telling myself that you knew why I had to do that, but it was utterly selfish and unfair of me to ask that you for all intents and purposes give up your husband."

"But that's not the cause of all of this," replied Legolas wisely as he reflected back on their relationship ever since they got married four years earlier. "It would be easy to blame all of our problems in this respect on how preoccupied you've been lately with Gondor's politics, but this goes deeper than that. You've _never_ particularly trusted the advisors' council; so why has it now led to such a problem?"

Aragorn pondered this for a moment. "We weren't really around them all that often at first," he finally said slowly. "We wed right after the war, after all, and though Sauron and Saruman had both been destroyed there were still orcs and other enemies to contend with. We spent a great deal of time back then out of the city, doing battle with them while Faramir was left in charge of running the city and realm."

"We haven't done that in a couple of years, though," pointed out Legolas. "We haven't even traveled much farther than Ithilien, expect for our recent visit to Bree."

'True," agreed Aragorn a bit wistfully. "I do miss it, too – not the parts with the orcs and the battles, but being able to get out of Minas Tirith for longer periods of time. The city is home now, but I've lived my entire life among nature and things that grow, traveling to all the lands. It can be really stifling being surrounded by all of this stone knowing that I'm never going to live anywhere else again."

"That is something I can definitely relate to," commiserated Legolas. "That's part of the reason why planting all of the gardens here means so much to me. Bringing life back to the city in that respect was as important to making this place feel like home to me as it was to help healing after the Shadow had passed."

"And that's what we focused on after the orc hunts and the like were no longer necessary: rebuilding Minas Tirith to be our home," recalled Aragorn. Those were pleasant memories and he smiled as the images passed through his mind. "You were preoccupied with the gardens just as much as I was with organizing all of the reconstruction and still we had no major problems with being able to see each other. Really, I think that it only became a problem when the foreign delegations came; they've been keeping us very busy."

"Keeping _you_ very busy," Legolas corrected him. He ran his hands over his swollen belly, letting them rest there. "I haven't had a real chance to be involved with the peace conference with everything else I've had on my mind."

The answer to their riddle came to Aragorn so strongly that he was embarrassed that it has been such a mystery in the first place. He was also greatly ashamed of himself for what its implications meant. "It wasn't about us," he noted, sounding almost awestruck. Legolas looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Legolas, _everything_ has always been about us until now. Think about it: the things that I did when I was a ranger were to get me closer to gaining your father's approval while we concentrated on keeping our love alive and strong. The Quest was to help Frodo and destroy Sauron of course, but it was also about spending time together so that our relationship could mature as well as finally fulfilling all that Thranduil asked of me so that we could get married. Hunting orcs and the like afterwards allowed us to journey together, fight side-by-side, and just generally _be_ together; and the labors in the city were about making Minas Tirith a place where _we_ would enjoy living. This gathering now is imperative to a lasting peace between the lands of Middle-earth and everyone will benefit from it but it doesn't really have anything to do with us as a couple."

If that were true – and Legolas couldn't deny that it was – then it could make for a bleak future if they didn't do something to resolve it, and fast. "It's never going to be just about us as a couple again," he said with great concern. Grasping his stomach with both hands, he moved as if to rattle and bring attention to it. "Even if we ran away into the wilderness tonight, away from all the responsibilities of the realm, our families, and our friends, this child would still be coming and he's going to change how our relationship works. If we can't figure out how to not let our duties interfere with our marriage, what hope is there to do so after he's born?"

"We can't let that happen – we can't lose each other," declared Aragorn, feeling a little helpless yet again. "So do you have any suggestions?"

There was only one thing that they could do. "We try harder."

Aragorn had to laugh in a self-deprecating manner. "Try harder," he repeated as if it was a novel concept. "By the Valar, I guess I thought that after all of those years of hard work at getting the chance to be together that we would be able to just enjoy it. But I can't think of anything that is more worth the effort than this."

"We've earned our 'happily ever after' all right; I suppose that those are the relationships that need the most work," said Legolas, his tone cheerful but his eyes shining with moisture. "We do have high standards, and it would be a shame to let all of our love go to waste now. So how about we make it a point to spend time together at least once a day – for a walk, a meal, whatever? It may not always be possible but it gives us something to work towards."

"That sounds reasonably wonderful," Aragorn stated, cupping his husband's face and caressing his cheek with his thumb, "but I'd like to amend it slightly. Those daily times will most likely involve our son as well after he's born. As much as I look forward to that day I don't want us to what we have as a couple. Therefore, let's not let a week at the most go by without us having some time alone together. After all, we have your father, Gimli, Faramir and Eowyn, and a citadel full of servants that would be willing to care for the baby when we needed them to – there's no reason why we shouldn't ask for help."

"I can handle that," Legolas murmured. "In fact, it sounds perfect."

"I must confess that I feel like I can breathe again," said Aragorn, and indeed he sounded a little breathless. "I'm glad that this went so well; having this conversation here wasn't really what I had in mind when I started planning this surprise…"

A warm wind blew and Legolas felt the safety and nurturing of the things that grew all around them. "The night isn't over yet," he reminded his husband. He shifted onto his knees, bring his face only an inch or two away from Aragorn's. "There are still several hours until the dawn. I like the idea of using that time to create some of those pleasurable 'couple memories' you were just talking about."

To be continued…


	30. Making up for lost time

Without uttering a single word, Aragorn lunged his whole body toward his husband, meeting Legolas' waiting lips with a searing kiss. How long had it been since they'd done this? Too long, he decided, considering how much passion they still evoked in each other in other aspects of life. It was simply ridiculous that they had expended so much energy on protecting each other when they could have been kissing like this. Not that they hadn't kissed for awhile – in the few weeks their lips would brush together as a means for one to comfort the other; and their mouths would join so that they could physically connect again after a time of crisis; and, of course, there were those obligatory pecks in passing. None of those, however, possessed this level of needfulness, this hunger, this _heat_. Aragorn felt as if a fire within him that had almost been smothered was suddenly breathing again, raging high until it scorched the sky.

The Man wasted no time thrusting his tongue into Legolas' mouth and thoroughly enjoyed the ecstasy he experienced as they dueled, battling for dominance. Legolas tried to win by making Aragorn lose his senses through the combined forces of massaging his husband's tongue with his own while sliding his hands underneath his shirt, caressing the skin of Aragorn's back before moving them to his chest and exploring that expanse at a deliberate pace. Aragorn was well aware of this particular tactic – and what a potent force that the elf's fiery and competitive nature was, especially when he applied the same stamina to their sex life that he showed in the heat of battle – and fought valiantly to keep his wits about him.

'_After all,'_ he reasoned, _'didn't we just decide that our relationship should be about mutual support and attending to each other's needs while also accepting the help that's offered?' _As far as he was concerned, there was no better place and time to enact that new policy than right now.

Aragorn wrapped his arms around Legolas, pulling him forward to totally press their bodies together. That was his intention, at any rate; before he could feel the tantalizing warmth of Legolas' body against him he encountered a large, hard mass that was hindering his efforts. It was the elf's protruding belly and Aragorn was paying the price for not calculating it into his plans. "Omph," he grunted breathlessly, forced to break off their kiss to concentrate on an even more basic task. "My love, I'm having difficulty breathing…"

Legolas broke away immediately, though Aragorn's embrace kept him from going too far. "I'm sorry," he apologized, a little embarrassed though he knew that he couldn't control how much his stomach was bulging those days. "It just felt so good to be able to feel your body against mine again and I couldn't get close enough."

"I know – believe me, I know," Aragorn groaned, both wantonly, because he needed to be with his husband so badly that it was threatening to drive him insane, and with frustration, because that near-insanity was robbing him of the presence of mind he needed in order to solve this dilemma. "There's no reason to apologize either; I was trying to get closer too." He brought his hand to Legolas' stomach and rubbed his palm over it fondly. "As I recall, I also had a role in the creation of this. Funny, I don't remember us having a problem like this the last time we made love."

"Well, my stomach wasn't as large back then as it is now," Legolas reminded him. "I've been heeding the healers' advice about eating and resting, Ada and Gimli stand over me until I eat everything on my plate, and Sam is _very_ generous with his portions. It's no wonder that I've grown so much in the last month."

"A month," repeated Aragorn in a sort of awed disbelief. By the Valar, it _had_ been a little more than an entire month since the last time they made love. No wonder he was having problems thinking clearly. "That's just…_wrong_. I mean, for the first few months after our wedding we couldn't even wait through a whole day to join our bodies. Then we had to scale it back to just every night; then to three to five days a week; and now we've abstained for over a month."

"It's sad, but we're not the first married couple that this has happened to," Legolas told him, trying to be reasonable since getting angry or sad about it wouldn't help matters any. "It seems that we need to try harder in this area as well."

Aragorn was only slightly consoled. "Still – one month," he continued to mull over. "That has to be some sort of record for us."

"Not one that I intended to set, not am I incredibly thrilled about," commented Legolas wryly, though obviously trying to disguise his own gloomy feelings about the matter. "But that's why we're out on this talan on this beautiful night - to setrightthe mistakes of our recent past. All will be well again if we try."

The tone of his voice made Aragorn snap out of his musings. If he wanted to let Legolas know that he didn't need to be protected from all unhappy things he would first have to show his husband that he could, and would, act like an adult. Under these circumstances, that meant stop obsessing over the past and take action to ensure that they keep it from continuing. He stroked Legolas' neck before dragging his fingertips up the points of his ears and teasing them. "I must beg your forgiveness, mela," he whispered gently. Legolas only shivered and let out several shallow pleasure-tinted pants in reply. "This is a time of renewal, not for us to lament the past. I let my marveling at how controlled we've been this last month get the better of me."

"I'll grant my forgiveness," gasped Legolas. His head was lolling as he tried to lean into both of Aragorn's busy hands. "But only if you keep doing that. Ai Elbereth, I think that your touch could undo me on every part of my skin!"

"Pregnancy is making your skin extra-sensitive," murmured Aragorn as he brought his mouth down on Legolas' collarbone. "You told me that on the night that we announced your pregnancy, remember?"

"I remember every single detail about that night," replied Legolas with a seductive smile. "Everything about you made me want you more. By Eru, Aragorn! That never stopped – do you know how many days and nights I've spent aching for your touch?"

"I've been such a fool to let myself get distracted from attending to your every need of that kind," said Aragorn simply, "but no more. You should know that I intend on making up for that one month without sex this very night. In fact, I'm starting right now."

Legolas gasped as Aragorn moved his head suddenly to take the tip of the nearest ear into his mouth. Elbereth, he wasn't going to last long at this rate! The suckling and flickering of the tongue against that particularly sensitive part of his body was making him feel like all of his bones were melting away. "We m-made some rather – ambitious plans that night," he recalled, trying to catch his breath enough to speak coherently.

"Oh yes," sighed Aragorn. He shifted his head down slightly without detaching his mouth so that he could whisper breathily in Legolas' ear: "Sex all over the citadel. Sex in the weapons room; sex in the throne room..."

"Sex in the throne room," keened Legolas in such a tone that Aragorn was surprised to find that he hadn't climaxed right then and there. "I have a wonderful little fantasy for that room that I've become very attached too. Just thinking about is enough to take me over the edge."

"Really?" Aragorn was ridiculously jealous that a daydream possessed the type of power that only _he_ was supposed to have over his husband. Still, his interest was piqued – the elf had always had an uninhibited imagination when it came to their sex life. Considering his state of mind back then, whatever he'd come up with in terms of his fantasies was without a doubt worth exploring. "Do you have a mind to share it with me?"

"That was the plan," Legolas smirked as they both felt the shift of dominance fall his way. He paused to let Aragorn pull his tunic from his body and was rewarded with the deliciously cool wind caressing his flesh. "You were the king –"

"Sounds familiar so far – a bit like reality, as a matter of fact."

The Man was rewarded for that remark with an equally teasing swat. "A mighty king who ruled over all the lands of Middle-earth," elaborated Legolas. "Your word was law and your wealth immeasurable. Your crown was so exquisite that anything you wore with it, even if it was your finest robe, looked shabby in comparison. Only your body was awe-inspiring enough to compete with that grand crown, so you chose to wear absolutely nothing on the days that you held court."

"I like this so far – it bolsters my ego quite nicely," commented Aragorn as his fingers found their way to the elf's exposed chest. Rolling his nipples, he went on in a deceptively casual tone: "But I wouldn't want to be in that throne room all alone. Did this fantasy include a husband, perhaps a gorgeous and equally naked elf prince?"

"I'm afraid not," replied Legolas with an exaggerated tsk. He arched into the touch while simultaneously fumbling to remove Aragorn's shirt. "There was an elf peasant, though. Poor thing; he had so little money that he couldn't afford any garments. While seeking a way to improve his lot in life, he heard about a king of Men who possessed a beauty that was different but no less potent than that of his elven kin. Hope and curiosity drove him to journey many long days and when he finally beheld him in that _majestic crown_ he immediately knelt before the throne to, um, make his case to the king."

"And I bet that the king was merciful, insisting that the unfortunate elf sleep in his own gigantic but lonely bed." Aragorn ran his thumb across Legolas' lower lip, licking his own at the same pace. "What king could resist any 'plea' made by those talented lips?"

Legolas smiled slyly. "He was even kind enough to let the elf peasant sit on the throne," he declared earnestly. "Of course, court was still in session and the king had to sit beneath him – it would have been improper to let anyone else's hind end to touch the royal throne. Thankfully they found a way to make that potentially awkward situation quite – intensely – pleasurable – a-ha!"

That triumphant cry signaled the elf's success in undoing the button that was holding up Aragorn's pants. Aragorn exhaled, relieved to be released from his confines, only to inhale sharply as Legolas slid his hands inside. "Legolas," he moaned, the name coming from somewhere deep inside. "You are trying to make me lose control. I feel that I must warn you that you won't succeed – in fact," he added with a lustful twinkle in his eyes, "I challenge you to stop at nothing in your efforts, for it will make my resistance all the more impressive. Do your worst, my love."

"You know that I can't back down from a challenge," purred Legolas. He continued his ministrations and gloated like the cat that trapped an especially elusive prey when Aragorn let loose a guttural groan. "And can you believe that I haven't even begun inflicting my 'worst' on you yet?"

Aragorn tried to think up a witty comeback but found that his mind was barely clear enough to remember his own name, and even that took several seconds of concentrated thought. It was just as well; at that moment Legolas' mouth crashed against his and his tongue became entangled in more important matters. "Silly Man," scolded Legolas when they broke apart for air, "it really _has_ been a long time if you don't remember that I always have going on in the back of my mind."

"Sou-sounds…promising," Aragorn managed to gasp out.

Gentle fingers traced the outline of his face, making Aragorn shiver. "I love you, mela, the elf murmured. "I'm going to show you how much. Just close your eyes and concentrate on how good everything feels."

Aragorn brought his hands up as if to stroke the slender hands by his face, they grabbed one of Legolas' wrists quickly enough to make him pause. Taking advantage of the lull in events, the Man wrapped his free arm around his waist. "What were we just discussing?" he asked in a mock disciplinary voice.

"Aragorn?" Legolas wasn't put off by the way his husband seized back dominance. If anything he was intrigued, wondering where he was planning on taking them.

"We are not parent and child but equals," Aragorn reminded him. Sliding the hand at the elf's waist down a little, he managed to hook a few of his fingers into his legging and started to pull them down. "None of this you-doing-all-the-work. As much as I would be in favor of it at any other time, tonight is about taking care of each other. It would be my _pleasure_ if we practiced doing that right now."

"That _is_ what marriage is all about," agreed Legolas brightly. After waiting as patiently as he could while Aragorn freed his body from the leggings, he reached down and returned the favor by helping the Man shed his pants. At last – at last! – they were both naked; Legolas made no hesitation in diving forward, shifting so that he could sit on his husband's lap.

Unfortunately, an old obstacle still remained and that tasked turned out to be more daunting than he'd anticipated. "Oof," he exhaled as his stomach pressed against Aragorn far sooner than he would have liked it too. He thought he'd maneuvered properly so that it wouldn't be a problem!

"Sorry," he added sheepishly, thinking fiercely about the different ways that they could go about this. Nothing seemed to be feasible if his last move hadn't worked! At a loss for anything else to do, he laughed somewhat insanely. The build-up to this moment and then having to contend with this persistent hurdle was starting to noticeably affect his oftentimes erratic emotions and he was struggling to keep them all it check.

Aragorn, being his doting husband and not an ignorant fool, could see right through his façade. "Legolas," he said cautiously in the same tone that one might use when trying to convince a desperate person from sacrificing his life needlessly. "It's all right, my love."

"We haven't made love in a month," responded Legolas, though Aragorn remembered it well enough without being reminded. His voice was wavering under the stress of his frustrations and the only way he could stop himself fromcompletely losing controlwas to keep laughing. "In that time we've dealt with internal and external threats that put an enormous strain on our marriage. Ai Elbereth, we even went for days on end without _talking_! Others have lost what made their marriage a relationship during situations that weren't half as difficult as ours. Now after all of that we've come to a point where we've gone through the gut-wrenching process of getting all of that out in the open. We want to – we _deserve_ to – celebrate our breakthrough by making love after over a month of abstaining and now we can't" – he let out a guffaw that almost made him choke –"we physically can't get close enough to do that."

"No," soothed Aragorn, running his hand over the hair on the back of the elf's head and resting their foreheads together. "It's not _physically_ impossible; we just need to find a more creative way to join."

"Extraordinarily creative," sputtered Legolas in between snorts of laughter.

"Legolas, you're really starting to worry me!" exclaimed Aragorn as he stared at his hysterical spouse. "Please, it will be all right; just relax and calm down."

"Fine!" proclaimed Legolas in a tone that made Aragorn almost wish for the hysterical fits to continue. "How's this for calm and sober: I need to see your face as we make love, but there's no way that can happen. I can't get close enough to you when I attempt to sit on your lap like this and you can't lie down and have me on top because I'd just end up crushing you."

Valar, they'd spent so much time apart that Aragorn had actually forgotten the extent of the sometimes swift onset and always unpredictable nature of the pregnant elf's mood swings. "That's not true," Aragorn told him, treading very carefully. "Why would you think that?"

"Look at me!" Legolas burst out and then hung his head a little. "I love our son; I love how I can feel him growing inside of me and can sense how he's feeling. I wouldn't trade this for all the forests in Middle-earth but there are times when I don't feel very…_alluring_. I guess that now is one of those times."

"So you believe that because we're having less-than-perfect ease right now that you're not sexually attractive ?" Aragorn smiled warmly when he nodded affirmatively. "Legolas, please trust me when I tell you that simply isn't possible. You are beautiful, naked, lustful only for me, and, yes, you are carrying our child; but that only makes you all the more irresistible. It adds something even more magical to our lovemaking because it's precisely by doing this that our miracle came into being. Do you feel this?" he added, guiding his husband's hand to his arousal and hissing as Legolas grasped it. "You – _only _you – do this to me. I need you so much right now; would I feel like that if you weren't as tempting as you always were?"

"I suppose not," said Legolas with a small smile. Aragorn's encouragement might have restored his confidence but they still had to address the problem concerning the technicalities. "But how –"

Aragorn cut him off with a deep kiss. "You forget that I have two older brothers," he said blithely. "I learned a great many – _interesting_ – things about sex under their tutelage. The important lession to remember right now is that positioning can be the most important part of our night."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

A lazy, satisfied smile broke across Legolas' face as Aragorn's panting started to give way to normal breathing again. "The last time we made love like _that_," he recalled while he enjoyed the lingering tingling sensation that always clung to his bones afterwards, "was on our wedding night. I really think that we should try it more often."

"Agreed – wholeheartedly," Aragorn told him, biting his lower lip as he went through all that they had done that night. "Since we're on the subject, we should also start incorporating what we did two couplings ago into our normal sex life as well."

"Are you sure? I thought that you were going to break a leg doing that!"

"Some things are worth breaking a limb for."

"Fine, and not because you made my eyes roll into the back of my head several times during that round; but because it makes _you_ happy." Legolas sighed, wiggling one of his feet in the air for no particular reason other than he was too happy to stay still. "By Eru, I love you for so many reasons: because you were strong and reassuring when I needed you to, because you let _me_ be strong and reassuring for you without getting defensive about it, and because there is no one who could make me feel the way that you do. Remind me to thank the twins for their excellent education the next time we see them."

"Which will hopefully be soon," responded Aragorn gruffly. "I sent out that messenger over a week ago, when you were poisoned."

"He wouldn't have been able to make it all the way to Rivendell by now."

"I know," Aragorn conceded, "but I was hoping that they'd be on their way back here and he'd meet up with them on the road. I thought that they'd make it a point to come back before your final month of pregnancy."

Legolas clenched his fists nervously. "I'm sure that they'll be here soon," he said, not wanting to entertain the possibility that they wouldn't be. Just thinking about having the healers of Minas Tirith, who had even less knowledge of male pregnancies than Elladan and Elrohir, being in charge of the delivery made him feel like breaking out in a cold sweat

He wanted to change the subject before he started to panic, but only one other topic came to mind. "You said that you wanted to make time to see me once a day."

"Yes I did," noted Aragorn, breezily going along with the abrupt topic change.

"And that those times would most likely include our son," Legolas continued. What he was about to say might not be entirely appropriate but he'd learned from experience not to let things that were bothering him fester. "Does that me that you expect me to only raise him to the exclusion of everything else?"

"Of course not," the Man assured him. "I know you; nothing short of the ending of the world could keep you away from the gardens for long."A pleasant warm feeling came over him as he imagined meeting his husband and child in one of those beautiful places after spending a tedious day trapped indoors. "I fully expect that our son to learn more than I ever could about caring for nature before he even begins his schooling."

"But nothing else besides that?" Legolas persisted. Aragorn raised his eyebrows. "I'm the prince of Mirkwood, and that position involved more than just tending to trees and plants. I'm well-versed in political matters and I care about Gondor and its people just as much as I care about its nature. Going to those advisor meetings before the poisoning was unexpectedly fulfilling; I'd like to be more involved with that part of Gondorian life, if that's possible."

Aragorn thought about it for a moment. It did seem unfair that Legolas be asked to squander that talent just because he happened to be the one of them who could bear children. "Well, there's currently an empty seat on the advisors' council…"

"But do you think that the advisorswould accept me taking it? It's been unheard of as of yet for the ruler's spouse, and a foreigner at that, to officially advise on the politics of the realm."

"And they would have protested if this had happened right after we got married," Aragorn told him. "They didn't know you then, but they do now and hold you in great respect. In fact, I've been told that at least one of them prefers working with you over working with me. Yes, I think that this could work out quite nicely."

"Excellent," Legolas grinned. The idea of being wholly separated for that aspect of life never appealed to him and now that probably wouldn't happen. It seemed like good things happened when people voiced what was bothering them. "But we should refrain from pressing this until after Lady Nienor's trial; I don't want it being said that I used undue authority to sway your decision about her punishment."

A fine suggestion; Aragorn only wished that he could excuse himself just as easily. The trial was coming far too quickly. How did he know that he could face the woman who tried to destroy his life in the name of 'reclaiming' him and judge her fairly? Was such a thing even possible? "We won't have to wait for too long then," he said aloud.

He took a deep breath and exhaled, cleansing her from his mind for now. That night on their talan was for him and Legolas alone; no one else – certainly not _her_ – had a place there.

To be continued…

_A/N: Timeline trivia - the last time that Aragorn and Legolas made love before this chapter is **not** the last that a love scene took place in this story. For reasons only understood by my crazy muses I thought that a month was excessive enough and that last timeactually in the story was(I believe - it's been a hard day and I can't think properly at the moment) almost two months back._


	31. Trials, part 1

_A/N: I have a vague idea about the proceedings of Gondorian trials, but I'm betting that what's about to take place isn't exactly correct (and maybe not correct in any way). I make no claims that it is._

Aragorn stood in the middle of a small room set close to the throne room, frozen in mid-motion. He had been in the process of placing the crown of Gondor upon his head when the enormous gravity of the situation he was about to face had come unbidden into his mind and arrested all movements. This was absurd; he'd told himself that he was going to be strong or at least not act like a child that day! After all, it had only been one week since that soul-revealing and magical night that he and Legolas spent on their talan, and a quiet one at that. Despite the continued obligations to the realm and its guests the couple had been able to keep their promises to spend time each day together and to be there for each other. However, the latter resolve might be tested in a matter of moments when the trial of Lady Nienor began.

If he had the capacity to, Aragorn would have groaned miserably. That day had been creeping closer and closer; he'd managed to not let it drive him insane by telling himself that it was really much farther off than it seemed to be. _'The trial is set to take place in five days – that's almost a week, plenty of time'; 'Yes, I'll have to preside over the trial of the woman who tried to destroy everything that I hold dear, but not for another three days – a lot can happen in three days'; 'Well, the trial is tomorrow, but why think about tomorrow when all you have is today?'_ If only he'd taken the time to mentally prepare for it in a more substantial way!

But was there really any way to get ready for such a thing? Once he left that room he would have to go into the throne room and follow all the proceedings of the Gondorian court: he'd have to ask Faramir if there were any petitions today as if he wasn't aware of who was waiting to enter. Then he'd have to endure listening to all of the crimes the lady stood accused of, tolerate her voice as she spoke in her own defense, actually speak to her and ask her questions, listen to anyone else who wanted to say anything on her behalf, and then have the strength of mind to render a fair and impartial judgment. The fact that his advisors had already helped him come to a decision as to what the proper punishment would be didn't make Aragorn's duty of having to look the woman who set out to murder his husband and child in cold blood in the eye and officially pronounce it any easier. He wasn't even sure if Legolas' presence at his side during all of this would make this less stressful, or more.

Perhaps he should try thinking about something else, something more pleasant, something like…his husband. Yes, Legolas was certainly someone he enjoyed thinking about, especially those days. The condition of their marriage had been steadily improving under their conscious efforts, leading to lovely meetings during the day and a few rather unforgettable evenings in their bedchamber as well as one in the weapons room. _'Maybe after this is all over with,'_ mused Aragorn, slowly regaining his ability to think, though his body was still motionless, _'we can do something about making that delightful throne room fantasy of his a reality. That would drive the memory of that woman out of there once and for all.'_ An added bonus was that the positions that Legolas had described would be fairly easy for them to do in the elf's current condition. He'd seemed to have grown even larger yet in the passing week…

Damn! Now Aragorn had gone from worrying about the trial to worrying about his husband's physical well being. He knew that he was being a little silly; the experienced healer in him said that everything was progressing in Legolas' pregnancy as it should be, but the anxious spouse (the more dominant of the two) looked at his expanded girth and was convinced that he was about to go into labor at any second. Legolas was showing no signs of developing the fabled birth canal that the twins were sure would form that would allow him to give birth naturally. What if the canal never formed and Legolas went into labor while the twins were still abroad? The idea of having one of the healers perform the dangerous procedure of cutting Legolas open made the Man feel nauseous; while those at the Houses of Healing were masters of their art, he couldn't entrust a task this important to anyone but his brothers – _who weren't there_.

As if he didn't have enough to worry about; and this was the most vital of them all: where were Elladan and Elrohir? Legolas was now almost certainly eight months along and at the beginning of his final month of pregnancy and no one had heard anything from either of the twins or the messenger that Aragorn had dispatched to Rivendell two weeks prior. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't find a rational justification for their absence at this stage – Elladan and Elrohir had been the ones to diagnose Legolas' pregnancy and make the estimations as to when he would be due. It seemed curious that they would choose to cut it so close. _'They could just be coming back now,'_ Aragorn told himself. _'If they met the messenger on the road, like I believe they would have, they would know about the poisoning and rush back as quickly as they could. No word has been sent ahead because no one would be able to get here before they did when they're in a hurry like that. Yes, that's it; they're coming soon – maybe they'll make it to the trial.'_

And the worrying cycle had come full circle: Aragorn was back to fretting over Lady Nienor's trial and he was still frozen in place. If he had to be honest with himself, he would have to admit that he was trying to delay this nerve-wracking exercise for as long as possible. Not forever – just long enough for him to be sure that he wouldn't let his fury affect his better judgment at all. An age of Middle-earth or so would probably be sufficient. The problem with that plan was that someone would be able to find him long before the beginning of the Fifth Age; also, he was still holding the crown in mid-air and he knew deep down that he would be able to keep holding it like that for an entire day, let alone the number of years that would make up the Fourth Age.

"Aragorn? What are you doing?" By the Valar, he'd been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he hadn't heard the door open and Legolas come in. He couldn't even rationalize that it was due to the fact that Legolas could sneak up on him whenever he wanted to; both because his husband wouldn't do that this day and the pregnancy had made his steps heavier than normal.

"Are you well?" the elf continued, walking around to Aragorn's side to better assess the situation. "Everyone is waiting, melanin. We must go to the throne room now. You just need to put your crown on and walk with me; soon this will all be over and we can get on to more important things in our lives."

"This is a bad idea," Aragorn mumbled as he stared fixated on the winged crown. Others had used that crown and the title that came along with the privilege of wearing it to achieve their own selfish ends. What made him think that he was any better than all of them? "This is too much. Maybe I should just assign the responsibility of presiding over her trial to Faramir."

"No, Aragorn," Legolas told him resolutely. "I have it on good authority that you've already presented this possibility and both Faramir and the advisors' council have spoken out against it. Now allow me to do the same: it is not a good idea to hand over the power to make rulings to another when you are present and capable of doing it yourself. You are the king of Gondor, Aragorn, and your people need to know that their king is able to pass judgment objectively in all manner of things. It's unfair, mela, but how can they trust you to make the right decision in their affairs when you all but admit aloud that you can't do the same in your own?"

"No one in my position could do this and remain objective," argued Aragorn faintly. "They might understand that."

Legolas couldn't bear watching his husband doubt himself even for a moment. "The delegates will be present as well," he said gently. "They came to Gondor with the faith that you can help guide them in reestablishing old alliances and forging new ones in peace. None of them will listen to a king that speaks about putting aside past injuries for the sake of justice and peace but shows that he cannot do the same himself. You have the strength of your convictions, my love, and the fortitude to endure. You have to do this."

"What if –"

"Aragorn, look at me."

He did and blinked at seeing all of the contradictions that the elf embodied at the moment. His garments were of Gondorian fashion, as he believed that it was proper etiquette for the prince consort of the realm to look the part while present in the official court; but he also wore the princely circlet of mithril, too delicate to be of Mannish make, that identified him as a member of the elvish royal family of Mirkwood. Legolas' body maintained its lithe build but his stomach protruded significantly and his normal stillness was interrupted by the hands that automatically reverently rubbed the bulge. His face too was a lesson in opposites: the facial expression was determined and grim, ready to face anything, but his eyes were twinkling with a nostalgic pride.

"You're right to believe that no one could do this," he agreed. "Some things are just impossible. For instance, a Mannish ten-year-old boy with no formal archery training and who'd never managed to hit the target before in his life couldn't best his centuries-old, trained warrior, elvish brother in an archery contest. And a young ranger who was caught kissing the son of the intimidating King Thranduil by the king himself would never be able to swallow his fears and stand up for their love."

"Legolas…"

"Let's not forget," the elf charged ahead, "that no Man facing impossible odds and an uncertain future could possibly be able to resist taking the One Ring when it is offered to him freely and when its will is bent on seducing him with images of everything he desires. Yet you did all of that, Aragorn! Anyone who is able to triumph over all of that can do what you need to do today. You don't have to judge her again – just once, when it counts, like those other times."

"I can handle once," whispered Aragorn, mostly to himself, as he broke his stillness. After placing the crown upon his head he walked to his husband, cupped his face with both palms, and pressed a kiss into his forehead. "As long as you are by my side, I think that I could manage to do any impossible feat as many times as I needed to."

Legolas placed a soft kiss on the Man's lips, letting them linger there to feel the warmth of Aragorn's lips and tasting what was uniquely his husband. "Thank you for the compliment, but you don't give yourself nearly enough credit," he said, reaching up to stroke Aragorn's bearded chin. "You are a strong and just person, Aragorn; you already know what the right thing to do is. In fact, I've heard a rumor or two that you've already determined what you need to do and have even started making all the arrangements."

A hesitant knock on the door silenced Aragorn's reply. "Come in!" he called.

The door opened and a guard came in, bowing low to his king a prince. "Please excuse my interruption, King Elessar, Prince Legolas," he apologized, "but I was sent to find you at once."

"Are we that late?" asked Legolas doubtfully. Due to the juicy and somewhat controversial proceedings scheduled for that day only the guards most experienced in the court's routine were assigned to the more involved, formal tasks like announcing the presence of the royal couple and standing watch over the entryway to the throne room. Any guard that would be in the position to seek them out would also be well-acquainted with the regal procession that signaled the beginning of court; they knew that Aragorn and Legolas would meet them at the door. Choosing to send one of their numbers to fetch them was highly unusual; he could only imagine it happening if the hour was growing late and judging by the sun that was hard to believe.

"No, Prince Legolas," answered the guard, looking more than a little embarrassed for he knew that he was breaking decorum and, even worse, he knew that they knew it as well. The reason why he had to do such a thing made it even more abominable. "But I was sent here because – well, because Lord Cirion requests to be present in court today."

That thorn in their sides! Hadn't he done enough already? Aragorn groaned inwardly. The lord wasn't even supposed to be in Gondor; according to his own proclamation, Lord Cirion should have been sent into exile a couple of days ago. He would have been, too, had it not been for the plea that his wife made to the king. Every aspect of the woman – her body language, her voice, her face, her spirit in general – showed signs of terrible strain; small wonder, considering that in less than a month she'd gone from being matriarch of respectable Gondorian family to being the wife of a disgraced lord, forced to vacate the family's ancestral home, and then the mother of the woman who committed one of the most heinous crimes in Minas Tirith since the Battle of Pelennor Fields. Aragorn had taken pity when she'd begged for him to allow her and her husband to remain in the city until Nienor's fate was decided. This latest request, however, was pushing the boundaries of how sympathetic he was capable of being.

"He asks for much when he has no standing to ask for anything at all," remarked Aragorn in disgust. "Is he threatening to create another scene if I do not comply with his request?"

"No, my lord," the guard shook his head. "He just asked – really quiet, too. He offered to be searched before being let in."

"Well, that's a given," said Aragorn, finding Cirion's gall to 'offer' to do anything that he knew would be ordered of him anyway extremely obnoxious.

The guard shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Then he said that if that wasn't enough, he'd wear shackles and even be chained to a guard," he went on. "_Then_ he said that he wouldn't fight it if you decided to lock him up for trespassing and treason afterwards if you just let him go to the trial now."

It could easily be a trick – Cirion bound and chained to a guard, being dragged off to the dungeons after Aragorn had given him permission to be present at the trial, could certainly paint the picture of the stupidly tyrannical king under the thumb of his seductive elvish husband that he spent so much time trying to create. And yet the asking without threats and the suggestions of all the demeaning circumstances he'd endure in order to go to his daughter's trial was a humble act for the proud Man, something that he would have considered to be too undignified before. Aragorn wasn't sure what to make of it. Sensing his confusion, Legolas entwined their fingers, squeezing gently to reassure him that he would be able to make the right decision.

"He may come," said Aragorn in resignation. "Let it not be said that the lady was denied the support she needed because of the nature of her crimes. The chains are unnecessary as of yet, but perform a thorough search before he sets one toe in the citadel and never leave him unattended. Once in the throne room, keep two guards at either side at, as well as at least one more within reaching distance, at all times. If he so much as looks like he's thinking about breathing in a disruptive manner, remove him. After the lady's trial, see to it that he goes to exactly two places: his home, to gather the rest of his possessions, and the gate of the city; and make sure that the guards out there are ready to escort him out of the realm once and for all."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

"What is he doin' here?" wondered Sam as two guards walked in with Cirion in between them.

Gimli drew in a sharp breath at the sight of the lord settling in his place among the crowd. "Good question," he growled. "Legolas shouldn't have to face him and the lady both! What if that Man tries something?"

"That is what your axe is for, Gimli," Thranduil told him tightly.

"Stop it," said Pippin. "I'm sure he wouldn't be in here unless Strider thought that he could be handled. Don't go making this day even harder by making a scene."

"He's right," interjected Eowyn. "Besides, knowing Lord Cirion, a scene is exactly what he wants. It would draw attention to him and maybe even make him look like an innocent victim. Pippin's right; just let him be unless there's no other choice."

"Pippin's right," repeated Merry in a mutter. "What's happened to the world that Pippin's become the voice of reason? Next thing you know every hobbit in the Shire will stop drinking ale and smoking pipe-weed."

Pippin bristled at the insult. "That's –"

"Make way for King Elessar and Prince Legolas!" Make way!" called out a guard as the Man and elf appeared in the doorway, interrupting Pippin's clever counter-argument. "You are in the presence of the king and the prince of Gondor! Make way!"

The room was so crowded that there people barely had room to bow as Aragorn and Legolas walked side-by-side past them. It seemed that no noble wanted to have the dubious distinction of being the only one not present when Lady Nienor's punishment was decided. It didn't matter if they'd liked her or not, or even if they really knew her or not; a scandal was a scandal and what took place there that day would undoubtedly give them something to gossip about for years to come.

Standing outside of the whispering throng very closely to the base of the throne were the advisors' council and Faramir on the king's side and Eowyn, Sam, Merry, Pippin, Gimli, and Thranduil together on the prince's side. Aragorn let out a heavy breath through his nose at the sight of his father-in-law. It was good that he was there; for all of Legolas' professions that he understood why Nienor did what she did, Aragorn knew that facing the lady would test that resolve. Legolas would need his father's presence – how the Man wished that his own father was there! On the other hand, seeing the woman who tried to murder his son and grandson was going to strain Thranduil's self-control as well and the elven king didn't have the understanding that calmed Legolas.

'_At least Gimli's with him,'_ thought Aragorn as he and Legolas took their seats. If anyone besides Legolas had the power to calm Thranduil down, it was the dwarf that stood beside him. That was cold comfort, though; for there was no guarantee that Gimli, who loved Legolas as a son, would be able to get through this without blowing up himself.

There was no time left to fret, however; Aragorn looked at his steward and everyone fell silent, waiting eagerly for the proceedings to begin. "Good morning, faithful steward of the line of Telcontar," said Aragorn.

"Good morning, my king," replied Faramir dutifully.

"What petition is there for me to hear today?" Aragorn demanded in a commanding tone, really hating the way that the traditional court formalities sounded. Most days he could get through this part fine because he knew that the people waiting needed his help; this day it felt so fake that he wanted to scream: _'Let's just get this over with!'_

"There is only one," answered Faramir. "For this one concerns the realm of Gondor as a whole."

That was the cue; through the doorway came Lady Nienor, escorted by four guards. That might have seemed excessive for any other prisoner, but Aragorn wasn't willing to take any chances with his husband in the room. Immediately the crowd started buzzing with whispers about the number of guards and if they were just trying to make her appear more dangerous than she actually was; whether or not she looked pale and gaunt; if she'd been mistreated by vengeful guards, as one prominent rumor suggested; and if there was even such a thing as 'mistreating' someone guilty of her crimes.

Aragorn and Legolas' friends and family didn't appear to possess much more restraint than the nobles. The hobbits grasped each other's arms and shoulders, unsure of what else to do. Thranduil turned rigid as if readying his body to attack and Gimli was quick to grab one of his hands, both to keep the elf from striking and to resist the urge to draw his axe. As for Legolas, his breath hitched once but otherwise he remained expressionless. Aragorn only hoped that he looked just as steady as he braced himself to confront her.

"Lady Nienor, daughter of the Lord Cirion, stands accused of the following crimes," continued Faramir in his most formal voice: "the twice-attempted murders of the prince consort and unborn heir of Gondor; trespassing; speaking slanderous words; and treason again the crown. In this matter, the realm of Gondor seeks justice from the king."

"You have heard the crimes that you stand accused of, Lady Nienor," Aragorn said stately, forcing himself to look her in the eye as he addressed her. He could get through this – he had to, just this once like Legolas said. She wasn't as powerfully daunting as Thranduil or evil as the Ring or Sauron; she was only a noblewoman. If he could handle them, he could certainly take this on. "Have you anything to say in response?"

Finally; this was the opportunity that she'd been waiting for since her unjust arrest! It was time to show the king and everyone else why the elf should have been sent to the dungeons, not her. "I have been grievously treated," she said, "for I am not guilty of any of these crimes."

"Prince Legolas and Lord Gloin of the Lonely Mountain bore witness to your second murder attempt and slanderous words about my husband," Aragorn reminded him, his voice still remarkably even. "And both heard your admission to the first murder attempt and trespassing into the citadel's kitchen. Do you deny this?"

"No, my lord; but what I spoke was not an admission of guilt and my actions are justified," answered Nienor. "None of these charges are valid because I am supposed to be your queen. That elf is not the prince consort, but a thief and seducer and his child an unnatural occurrence. That should be _my_ place at your side and your child in _my_ stomach; and if all was right in the world I would be queen and I would be able to go anywhere in the citadel without it being called trespassing. The only treason here should be his crimes against me."

"Do you question the king's decisions, then?" asked Aragorn.

"No, my lord," was her automatic reply.

"But not only have you questioned my decision to marry Prince Legolas and create a child with him, you have judged it to be wrong."

"My, my lord; it is not you." He countenance faltered for a split second before she put on her righteous mask again. "It was the influence of that elf –"

"Prince Legolas," he told her hardly. "You will address my husband as Prince Legolas." Aragorn saw her flinch and knew that she'd never entertained the notion that he might actually love Legolas before. "You believe that the king is a fool who allowed himself to be seduced by the first person he ever felt an attraction to."

This wasn't how she planned for this to go! "I do not believe that," she protested. "He just – stole you from me. You are _my_ husband."

"Did I make any promises to wed you? Was it you whom I exchanged vows of marriage with the day of my coronation?" Aragorn pressed. Her face went pale and she bit her lower lip. No answer – he'd thought as much. "A spouse is not a child's toy that can be stolen. Any who believe otherwise are not mature enough to enter into marriage, let alone hold the position of the king's spouse."

She opened her mouth but Aragorn waved his hand to cut off her flustered but outraged response. "Enough!" he ordered. "I grow weary of hearing you use your fantasies to excuse what you have done. Prince Legolas is my prince consort; the child within him is my heir; and any action taken to harm either one of them is considered to be treasonous. It is clear that you have no legitimate defense and I wish to hear no more from you if you cannot acknowledge that what you did was wrong." He lifted his eyes to look out over the crowd. "Now is the opportunity for others to speak. Is there anyone here who wishes to say anything in the lady's defense?"

Everyone stood absolutely still, not daring to make a peep for fear that Aragorn might associate them with Nienor the next time one of them stood before the king. Then one voice – that of Lord Cirion's – spoke up:

"I will."

To be continued…


	32. Trials, part 2

The guards of Gondor had received and carried out many orders in the name of their realm and the Man who ruled it but never before had they been able to derive such pleasure in doing just that as they were at that moment. "Lord Cirion," said the guard standing a breadth away from him as he seized his arms. A malicious glee spread through his body when the lord froze, but the guard was able to maintain his dignified composure. "You are under arrest for disrupting the court proceedings."

"No, I can't be!" protested Cirion desperately, turning his imploring eyes to the king and the prince. Aragorn was watching with a sort of stoic dispassion as he watched the guards take care of the problem. Legolas tensed though, torn between what he thought was the right thing to do in the name of justice and staying quiet and conceding to his husband's rule as was expected. In the end he knew that he had to trust, as he always had, in Aragorn's righteousness.

"I must speak!" Cirion went on as he fought against his instincts to struggle as more guards closed in around him.

"You have no right and are causing a scene," tuned in the guard Beren. He grabbed the disgraced lord's wrists, holding them together while he called out to whichever of his comrades were nearest: "Fetch some chains!"

"King Elessar," pleaded Cirion, never turning his eyes away from the royal couple. "Prince Legolas, please! I need to be allowed to speak on my daughter's behalf!"

"I apologize for the interruption, my lords," Beren addressed the throne, speaking loudly to drown out Cirion's voice. "I can assure you that we will have this situation under control in a matter of minutes; it will not happen again."

Aragorn cast a cold eye on Cirion. "Perhaps," he suggested to Beren frostily, for he had no compassion left for the Man after all that he'd put Legolas through, "you should try to gain control of the situation out in the corridor rather than in the middle of my throne room. He is making a mockery of the lady's crimes against – against Gondor and I want him removed immediately!"

"Please sire, you asked if anyone had anything to say in Nienor's defense!" Cirion cried as he felt Beren tighten his hold on his wrists even more – if that was possible – and begin to drag him away. His eyes strayed to Nienor, who stared back at him with a perfectly proper indignant expression at seeing someone of his high blood being treated in such a manner. It only served to further remind him of how important his testimony could very well be to her future. "I have something to say! I may be the only person present who is willing to speak on her behalf!"

"That invitation, as you should know, is only extended to the citizens of the realm and honored guests of the throne," responded Aragorn with dispassionate condescension. Inwardly, however, he was scolding himself for being too lenient as to let this interruption happen in the first place. Really, what had he expected would happen once Cirion was admitted into the trial? Now the incident would be the subject of gossip for months on end and a few people – those who were ignorant of the severity of the circumstances and/or unwilling to see anything but the supposed privilege of high blood – would question the king's fairness in enforcing the rules of the court. "You are here with my permission, not my invitation; and that permission was forfeit the moment that you chose to make a scene and disturb the trial."

"My lords, I beg of you, please!" Cirion slipped from Beren's vice-like grasp and stumbled to his knees. Everyone stared with bated breath as they waited for Cirion to rise to his feet and storm to the throne – they had come to expect nothing less from the lord – but he surprised them all by remaining down, bowing his head and clasping his hands outward. "I throw aside my pride; and good riddance to it, for it is the reason why all of us are here today. I agree with my daughter that a grievous injustice has been done against her but I am the one who perpetrated it. Please, please, please grant me the opportunity to explain her actions – it is my fault that she has committed these heinous crimes!"

"Father!" gasped Nienor. The sight of her brave, dignified father on his knees to bow before the elf that had gone out of his way to ruin the kingdom of Gondor in general and their family's lives in particular had been baffling enough. Surely he didn't mean it when he implied that what she had done in the name of justice had been wrong! "Why are you saying these things?"

"Because they are true," he told her despondently.

She shook her head stubbornly and looked suspiciously at Legolas, who set his jaw and let his hands flitter down to his swollen stomach. "It is that elf, isn't it?" she demanded in a stage whisper that, of course, everyone could hear. Cirion flinched as her voice seemed to echo throughout the room. "He is controlling you somehow."

"Please, pay no attention to her words because they were once mine. I have destroyed my daughter," said Cirion to Aragorn and Legolas, and the admission pained him in a way that he never thought possible because he had never grasped how true that was until he said it out loud. "Her crimes are but an extension of my own; against her well being, against Prince Legolas, whom I acknowledge as the rightful husband to the King Elessar of Gondor, and against the throne and realm themselves. All I ask for – I _plead_ for – is the opportunity to make that known to all those who are to judge her, both officially and unofficially."

The king stared at him for several moments as he silently debated what to do. He was under no obligation to allow Cirion – a disgraced former citizen exiled for treason – to speak, nor was he inclined to do so. He despised the lord for all of the pain that he had inflicted on Legolas – not for the insults, disrespect, or even the accusations of being unfaithful, because the elf had not let them trouble him and could even laugh them off as the rants of a jealous and insane fool. What Aragorn really hated Cirion for were his words to his husband before Legolas had found out that he was pregnant. The lord had harassed him about the perceived impossibility of him providing Aragorn with any heirs, ignoring all of the anguish that it had caused him. The lowest, most despicable of it all was when he started to pressure Legolas to encourage his husband to have an affair to amend the matter. The Man recalled darkly that conversation over breakfast that they'd had at Bree months ago when his husband's guilt, combined with the fact that he believed that he was dying, almost drove him to give in to the lord's forceful requests. Now the tables had been turned and Aragorn could see no reason why he should allow Cirion the opportunity to protect his loved one when he'd had no qualms about hurting the person that the king loved most.

He looked over at Legolas, who was doing a remarkable job of remaining stoic though his hands showed signs of tension, and then over to their family and friends for a kind of affirmation in his convictions as well as to see how they were reacting to Cirion's pleas. Gimli, he was relieved to note, still had a firm grasp on Thranduil's hand to anchor both of them from behaving in a manner unbefitting of royal guests. Aragorn blinked as a thought struck him: a dwarf holding an elf's hand…_that_ dwarf providing comfort and strength to _that_ elf…even after the years of bad blood between their races and between Thranduil and Gimli's father…by Elbereth, he never really comprehended what a strange thing that was before! Yet there they stood, released from the hatred of the past because – well, because Legolas had loved Aragorn enough to make peace with Gimli so that the Man's task during the Quest would be made that much easier. _'But that has nothing to do with what's happening now,' _Aragorn told himself, though he had some inklings of doubt forming at the edges of his mind. _'Neither Legolas nor Gimli were never directly involved with the incident between their fathers.'_

But the truce between the sons had led eventually to a truce between the fathers. Somehow, Gloin and Thranduil had reached an unsolicited truce, acknowledging the fact that their feud meant very little during their races' dwindling years and reaching that understanding for Gimli's sake. The disagreement about who was right and who was wrong stayed the same – Thranduil was still insistent that Gloin had been disrespectful to his authority and Gloin held firm to the belief that he had been imprisoned unfairly – but they chose not to let it interfere with how they related to the rest of the world. Even before that, the old dwarf risked his own pride and life to try to come to Legolas' aid when Nienor had threatened him and their child; all because he respected the king of Gondor and cared too much about his son to let anything happen to someone who meant so much to the both of them. _'Letting go and moving on is more productive than clinging to past injuries and using them as an excuse as to why it's not your fault that the world is drowning in mistrust and hate;'_ that was something that his father used to tell him.

Elrond's wise but warm face flashed into Aragorn's mind and he missed him more keenly than ever. When the Man felt truly lost while trying to figure out what the right thing to do was he always asked himself what kind of a ruler that he wanted to be. The answer to that question was always the same: he wanted to rule in a manner that made people remark that he was truly the son of Lord Elrond of Rivendell, wise and compassionate in all of his dealings. If faced with this situation what decision would Elrond have made? Aragorn knew, and he suddenly understood why his father had frowned so much – it wasn't easy being the bigger and fairer person.

"I will allow this," he declared with the slightest hitch in his pacing as he almost gagged on the words. "You may step forward and speak, Lord Cirion."

Cirion had to restrain himself from running to the foot of the throne to stand beside Nienor. "Thank you," he breathed gratefully. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

"Cease that at once," ordered Aragorn in reply, immensely disliking the idea of the lord having anything to be grateful to him about. "I grow weary of your voice and presence in my realm, Lord Cirion, and wish to hear no more from you than what I have given permission for you to speak. I suggest that you say what it is that you feel compelled to say before my patience runs out entirely."

In need of no more prompting, Cirion drew in a deep breath and plunged in. "Nienor is my only child and I wanted what was best for her." He stopped himself and shut his eyes briefly. There could be no more lying to himself, not today when the truth was so important. "No, that is not entirely true; I wanted what was best for me and I convinced myself that what I wanted was best for her as well."

"And what might that have been?" asked Aragorn tightly. He already knew the answer but wanted to see the once proud lord choke it out.

"All I wanted was for her to enter into the most advantageous marriage imaginable," replied Cirion with much shame. "And in my eyes, that was one with the Man who was to rule the realm of Gondor. By the Valar, she was only spared from me seeking a marriage contract with Denethor because she was too young by societal standards for that! As I poured all of the time and energy that I should have spent on being her father into molding her into the 'perfect wife,' I also sought out Lord Boromir constantly to forge a marriage contract between them. He never agreed – he was a brave Man of warfare and had no mind to take a spouse, but that did not stop me from constantly harassing him about it."

From his position in the crowd Sam snorted under his breath. "Having to deal with both him and that father of his," he muttered to his fellow hobbits. "No wonder he came apart like he did."

"Then he departed and never returned," Cirion continued, "and my thoughts turned to the Lord Faramir; but he was ever abroad and knew only rumors of my intentions. Had I known where he was I have no doubt that I would have ridden out to him even if he were in Osgiliath when it was under siege, so driven and obsessed I was. Then – then you came to the city, King Elessar, and my focus bent towards you. Onto you I projected all of my ambition to the point that I showed open disrespect for your husband and your marriage. Looking back with a clearer eye, all I can do is marvel that you endured my behavior and treasonous words for as long as you did."

"It was not I who had to endure the worst of it," hissed Aragorn furiously, forgetting himself for a moment as he remembered the distraught look in Legolas' eyes that morning in Bree when he told the Man that Cirion 'has a point' about the kingdom needing an heir.

"I know, and that is one of my greatest crimes," conceded Cirion before he turned to Legolas and looked him in the eyes for possibly the first time ever. "My behavior toward you was abhorrent, Prince Legolas. I saw you not as a person but as an obstacle to all of my plans. Because of this self-inflicted misconception I took it upon myself to shame you about something that you have no control over – your ability to reproduce – and then sought to punish you when what I believed to be true turned out to be inaccurate. I made crude assumptions about the nature of elves, telling myself that it was all fact and that you did not deserve to be the king's spouse because of it. I even went so far as to manufacture an imaginary feud between us to attempt to gain sympathy from my fellow advisors – something that they were wise enough to see right through and reject – when you were never my enemy. By this I have earned the dishonorable title of traitor and the exile that goes along with it many times over; and the only thing I can think to do now to make any amends is to offer my most heartfelt apology."

Legolas nodded slowly, graciously, in the direction of the lord. "I accept," he said, "for now you understand what you did and I have no desire to be angry with you."

As much as he admired Legolas' compassion, Aragorn still wasn't convinced by Cirion's contrite act. "You have said much to make amends on your own behalf," the Man said curtly, "yet you have said precious little in defense of the lady. Since I have no intention of reversing your exile no matter how sorry you are, I insist that you either say what you claimed to have come here to say or leave now. How are you responsible for Lady Nienor's crimes?"

"I was her teacher, King Elessar," said Cirion, the depth of his anguish unfathomable. "All of the bitterness I felt at the perceived unfairness of being denied a chance to become part of the royal family transferred unfettered to my daughter through _my _treasonous rants at home. I taught her that she had the right to be your queen, that the Prince Legolas was robbing her of that right, and above all that I was always right in every respect; and she took all of those lessons to heart. Most of all, I failed her as a father, sire; I was so obsessed first with finding her a ruling husband and then with the reason that I thought was preventing her from becoming queen that I did not tell her that I would still love her even if she never held that title. She thought – she thought that I did not want to be her father if she had no chance at becoming your wife, that I believed that she was a failure somehow, and that drove her to despair and desperation. I am so sorry, Nienor."

The lady stared at him as if he had gone insane. "Why do you keep saying all of these things?" she cried, confused. None of this made any sense! In the simple world inside of her mind she was supposed to be the queen of Gondor, that the elf was a wanton whore, and that her father only deserved the best daughter that marriage could give him. "You are the father of the wife of Gondor's ruler –"

"I am _your _father, Nienor," stressed Cirion gently.

Legolas closed his eyes as he recalled the lady's words on that fateful day in the garden. Clutching that knife while his stomach bled, he was still able to muster sympathy for her as she despaired over how Cirion was 'never Nienor's' father. If only he hadn't been so stubborn! Had he seen the errors of his ways and told her before what he was telling her now, would any of this have happened? There was no way to know for sure, but he still mourned the fact that perhaps knowing that her father loved her would have stopped the lady from destroying her own life while trying to destroy that of him and his son.

"This whole affair is all my fault," concluded Cirion, squaring his shoulders and standing tall for the first time since Nienor's arrest. The weight of guilt had somewhat lifted now that he had admitted all of this to the king and prince; now he felt strong enough to be ready for whatever was to come. "If you are to punish anyone this day, let that person be _me_."

Aragorn had to remind himself to breathe, so stunned was he to actually hear words of remorse and repentance coming from Cirion's mouth. It seemed that one more wormtongue had recognized that what he had done was wrong just in time to be too late. It comforted him, though, for now he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was going to do the right thing.

"I appreciate your humbleness, Lord Cirion, but you provide a reason for why your daughter committed these crimes, not an excuse," said the king of Gondor. His eyes strayed to Faramir for a moment and he had to keep himself from gasping when he saw Boromir standing in place of his steward. "Many a good person has face the pressures of a demanding, even obsessive parent. Some of them have not fallen so utterly into disgrace; and some of them had the support of others, but not all of them. The others that did give in" – _'forgive me; I did not see it'_ begged the ghostly figure as he lay dying in those woods, choking on his own blood; but he need not ask because Aragorn had already done that –"among them are those who kept their honor by facing the consequences of their actions."

The ghost of the past faded and Aragorn's sense of compassion was restored. "I have, however, taken your part in this into consideration," he told Cirion as his hand sought out and found Legolas' slender fingers. "And you are not the only one who has spoken out on the lady's behalf. As one of her intended victims and as my husband you have born witness to everything that has gone on here today, Prince Legolas. Are your thoughts on the matter still the same?"

Legolas swallowed hard. "They are," he proclaimed softly, feeling so many emotions at once that it was difficult for him to keep them all straight. This was harder than he thought that it would be, yet his convictions had been upheld and he remained strong. "I cannot speak for my child, but for my part I forgive Lady Nienor."

Nienor had never felt so rudderless in her life. She couldn't just let go of a lifetime of expectations and years of indignant suffering without warning. "I do not want your forgiveness!"

"That does not matter; you have it nonetheless."

"Lady Nienor," proclaimed Aragorn authoritatively, seeking to cut off any response that she might have. He didn't want her to converse with his husband any longer. "You have attempted to murder the prince consort and unborn heir of Gondor, trespassed in restricted parts of the citadel, and spoke treasonous words. In all of this you have shown no remorse, though now that I see you I doubt that you understand the magnitude of your crimes. In light of Prince Legolas' forgiveness and your father's testimony, I will not end your life by means of execution or lifelong imprisonment; but you will be put away until my child is old enough to plausibly defend himself. Therefore, as the king of Gondor, I judge it to be fair to sentence you to thirteen years in the dungeons."

Murmurs ran through the crowd. Debates started immediately about whether the king had been too lenient in not executing her or too harsh in sending a noblewoman to such a dank place until her childbearing years were almost behind her. Nienor herself looked stricken, realizing for the first time that her father could not fix this, that Aragorn wouldn't forsake his marriage to be with her; and, for all her fantasies, she was actually going to be punished. Cirion, a broken Man at last, began to weep.

"Silence! I am not finished," commanded Aragorn sternly. "You are exiled form these lands as well, Lady Nienor; never again will you set foot in Gondor. Since that is the case, you will have to carry out your sentence in Dol Amroth."

A sob stuck in Cirion's throat at the mention of the land. "Prince Imrahil has been kind enough to agree to house you there, as he has been to admit your parents to his land as well. It will be up to him to decide the details of your punishment, but I will not oppose it if he decides to allow your parents to visit you frequently. I suggest, Lord Cirion, that you use these years to correct the skewed notions that you've set in your daughter's head. Now it is time for the both of you to leave my kingdom."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Much later, after the trial was over and the last portions of the crowd had finally dispersed, Gimli dragged Thranduil out of the city. "Gimli," scolded the elf as the ground beneath his feet passed from stone to grass. "Can this not wait? This has been a stressfultime for my Little Greenleaf – we should really spend time with him now."

"No we shouldn't," countered Gimli, his tone kind. "He and Aragorn need to spend some time alone together and the two of us need some air. I know that you can usually find refuge in the gardens of the city and I take solace from the stones but, as you said, this has been a trying day and it would benefit us both to stand in an open space for a change."

"_Trying_ day? Are you attempting to be funny?" asked Thranduil with false lightness. His knees trembled a bit and he sank to the ground. "Although your pun is apt. I did not think that I could get through the trial without doing something terribly rash. Thank you for being there for me, Gimli; I am as glad for you as I am that this day is finally over with."

Gimli sat down facing him. "I am too."

"He was so – strong and gracious." Thranduil smiled proudly and nostalgically. "He gets that from his mother."

"Aye, but he gets that from you as well," said Gimli knowingly. "I'm so proud of that laddie; of his husband too."

"Yes, Aragorn carried himself quite impressively," agreed Thranduil, his voice full of emotion. "It was odd; there I stood in a Mannish court looking up at a Mannish king and yet I could have sworn that it was the Lord Elrond who was presiding. He is indeed a son of Elrond, and to think –"

His voice cut off suddenly as a strange tremor ran through the ground and the birds began to sing rapidly. The elf cocked his head to the side, listening to all of what they had to say. "What is it?" Gimli demanded curiously.

"Shh – the land and the birds are speaking," replied Thranduil urgently.

"And what do they say?"

Thranduil's attentive expression gave way to a long-suffering, exasperated look that also invaded his tone. "Speaking of which," he muttered, staring off into the distance at movement that was just beyond his elven eyes but wouldn't be for long. _"Finally."_

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

"Legolas," asked Aragorn tentatively as he closed the door of their bedchamber behind them. He watched with growing concern as his usually graceful husband stumbled over to the bed. "Are you well, my love?"

"I'm –" Legolas cut himself off before the automatic answer of 'I'm fine' left his tongue. "I'm not feeling very well. Not ill, exactly – more, uncomfortable. I think – I think that it would be best if I laid down for awhile. Could you get my robe for me?"

Aragorn threw him one more concerned look before striding quickly over to their closet. "Of course," he said, pulling out the garment as Legolas shed his tunic. "But are you sure that this is all you need? Would you like me to send for a healing woman?"

"I – I don't know," answered Legolas shakily, pulling down his leggings. "I feel" – his eyes widened when an unexpected stain inside that garment caught his eye. "Ai Elbereth."

The frightened tone scared Aragorn even more. "Legolas?"

The elf didn't answer. Wrapped up in his own confused and stricken thoughts, Legolas reached down and touched himself, placing a hand on the juncture between his legs. Aragorn was about to ask what he was doing and how that related to his onset of fear when he pulled it out again. The Man's heart seemed to stop when he saw what had drawn his husband's attention.

"Aragorn," breathed Legolas, staring at his reddened hand. "I'm _bleeding_."

To be continued…

_A/N: Wow - this story now has over 600 reviews. Thank you so much!_

_A/N: I waivered so much on how long Nienor's sentence should be - thank God I'm not the ruler of Gondor (or sitting on a jury, or a judge)!_


	33. The news spreads

"_Get out of the way!"_

Standing guard at the entrance to the private royal chambers in the citadel, Beren started at the sound of the king's panicked voice. The corresponding frantic footsteps only served to confirm his fear that something terrible had happened. "Sire!" he cried, hurrying through the doorway to find Aragorn as soon as possible. True, a guard was never supposed to leave his post unless so ordered by a commander or the king himself, but Beren knew now that the danger wasn't going to come from the outside – it was already within.

It was so dark in the corridor that he could barely make out Aragorn's movements at all. "What is wrong?" persisted Beren as he tried vainly to find the king's exact location. Why was the king of Gondor groping around in the darkness like this? It seemed unlikely that he wouldn't have been able to locate a lamp or a candle.

"You're standing where I need to walk, that's what's wrong," shot back Aragorn, appearing from out of the darkness.

Beren jumped to one side immediately and Aragorn brushed past, taking no care to not bump into the loyal guard nor offering an apology when he did so. The actions of the normally courteous ruler confused the guard even more and he almost asked what had brought on this strange mood. The question, however, stuck in his throat when he saw the reason: the king's hands were already full. Prince Legolas, wrapped haphazardly in his luxurious green dressing robe, was cradled in his husband's arms.

One of the first things that Beren noticed about the elf was that he was being incredibly quiet. That wasn't right; when the king and prince interacted it was either with loving and teasing banter or else stubborn arguments. Aragorn's behavior clearly indicated that there was nothing fun about what had driven them out of their bedchamber that night. Yet Prince Legolas, a proud and willful creature, would never consent to being carried around like that otherwise; the guard had no doubt that if Legolas had two broken legs he'd still elect to crawl to the Houses before admitting to himself that he needed help. In this instance, however, it appeared that the time for resisting assistance had come and gone; the only responses that the prince was giving were the expressions of confusion, fear, and occasional pain that distorted his exquisite features as Aragorn charged ahead.

"What happened?" asked Beren as he quickly fell in step beside Aragorn. "Was there another attack? I don't know how the guards let this happen, but I can assure you that I ordered all of my men to inspect every corner of the citadel twice and then once more before you retired! What has some coward done now: more poison, or did someone opt for a direct assault this time?"

"No, no," dismissed Aragorn distractedly while he maneuvered his way through the corridors. Thank the Valar that he knew the citadel well, for stopping to get a light just wasn't an option; memory served him well enough to let him focus on balancing the added weight in his arms. He was determined not to cause further harm to Legolas. "I can't explain how this came about, but I don't really care right now either. Legolas has to get to the Houses of Healing at once – then we can figure out what's happened."

Legolas let out a pained gasp as his body tensed and constricted. "It hurts," he moaned. "And I can still feel it – I can still feel myself bleeding. It won't stop, Aragorn; the bleeding just won't stop no matter how much I try to make it."

"It will, my love," Aragorn assured him, trying to sound confident without being grim. "We're on our way to the Houses right now; you'll get settled in that room you've come to hate so much and then the healers will find a way to stop the bleeding."

"Elladan and Elrohir aren't here." The promise of the healers' work was only of little comfort to Legolas because of that one little fact. "The healers and the healing women are skilled in their craft, but I need your brothers for this. Those at the Houses, they don't have the resources to understand elven male pregnancies like the twins do."

"We don't know if this has anything to do with your pregnancy," replied Aragorn, though even he didn't believe his own words. "Is the baby telling you anything?"

"I can't tell," said Legolas heartbrokenly. "I can't sense anything now but blood, confusion, and alarm. Ai Elbereth, please don't let me lose my baby!"

Aragorn mentally cursed at his brothers. A fine service they were doing for them by continually being absent when Legolas really needed them! Rationally he knew that he couldn't fault them for being away when the elf had been poisoned; after all, no one save the perpetrator herself knew that it would happen. Nor could he blame them for not reappearing instantaneously the moment he sent out the messenger – the road to Rivendell was long and nothing save being carried by eagles would have made everyone reach their destinations at a speed that would satisfy Aragorn at this time. Still, it made Aragorn feel more focused and in control when he had something tangible to blame; now he just had to take that feelings and use them to concentrate on being strong for Legolas.

"You will not lose this child as long as I have something to do about it," he reassured Legolas as he carefully began to descend a shadowy staircase. Beren was still next to them, readying himself to catch the prince should Aragorn's feet stumble or arms give out. "I learned the art of healing from my father, just as they did. Even if the don't manage to get their lazy butts back here in time, I swear to you that someone with experience in healing elves will attend to you – even if that person has to be me."

"Aragorn, I –" Legolas gritted his teeth and winced. Shifting in his husband's arms as he did just now had made him feel the open wound between his legs all the more keenly. He had no doubt in his mind that this was the birth canal that had been anxiously awaited and thoroughly searched for in a series of demeaning examinations. It caused him no pain, unlike the sharp twinges that came every now and again (_'Contractions,'_ he realized); unpleasant and uncomfortable better suit what he was feeling in terms of it.

What scared him beyond comprehension was the presence of blood. He wasn't ignorant to the goings-on of pregnancy, and through both life lessons and what he'd been reading since he'd found out that he was pregnant he learned that such bleeding was oftentimes a sign that the baby was lost. The very idea was unbearable to him – how was he supposed to live through the loss of his child? Legolas thought of Thranduil then and understood better than ever what his own choices concerning mortality had done and was going to do to the older elf. "I want my father," he told Aragorn.

'_I want mine too,'_ Aragorn thought and almost answered, but managed to hold his tongue. There was a time and place for him to long to hear the comforting voice of Elrond while feeling the elf lord's arms wrap around him and this wasn't it. Instead he threw an annoyed glance Beren's way. "Did you not hear the prince?" he demanded, angrier than he should have been. He would just have to apologize later, when his wits and senses returned to him and he could claim to be sane again. "Fetch King Thranduil at once and tell him to meet us at the Houses of Healing!"

Beren hesitated, reaching tentatively toward the royal couple to steady Legolas as coming off of the stairs onto the landing jostled him. "I will send one of my most trustworthy men right away," he promised. "It will take but a second and then I can return to help –"

"I didn't tell you to do that!" Aragorn shouted furiously at him. "I don't need my guards ignoring my direct orders and wasting time while passing off their duties to one another! There is no guard I trust more than you – for now – and right now I need my most trusted guard to make sure that my husband can have his father with him when he needs him. I can get Legolas to where he needs to go – just do as I say!"

Swallowing hard, the guard nodded and dashed ahead to hold the door to the main entrance of the citadel open so that his king could pass through it without harming himself or the precious burden in his arms. Aragorn sucked in the cool night air as he passed through in order to bolster his already-charged nerves. The second that they cleared the stairs he was going to run as if Sauron himself was after them; and he wasn't going to stop until he reached the Houses. Legolas stirred uncomfortably against him and the Man felt warm moisture beginning to seep through his husband's leggings. It reminded him of the gravity of his task – the bleeding was not going to stop on its own.

"Find King Thranduil," Aragorn repeated to Beren curtly.

"He may still be outside of the city," added Legolas tightly. He'd never felt so out of control when it came to his body before. Of course, he'd felt helpless when he'd been poisoned but he'd also been unconscious during most of that period of uncertainty right after, when everyone was trying to find out why he collapsed, and once the cause had been discovered he'd been relatively sure that it wouldn't be happening again. If the cause of this was as he feared and he was indeed miscarrying then knowing what was happening wouldn't make it stop. Elbereth, this was even worse than the time that he'd thought that he was dying because it wasn't his life at stake. He could only compare it to watching Aragorn nearly getting squished by a gigantic troll outside of the Black Gates and even then he had the inadequate assurance that Aragorn had the knowledge and capacity to protect himself. The baby needed his body and strength to survive and now both appeared to be failing.

"He's gone all the way back to Ithilien?" gasped Beren. He didn't want to have to travel so far when the prince was in danger! As far as he was concerned, one step in the opposite direction would be an almost intolerable distance.

"No. Gimli –" Legolas let out a sharp cry as another sudden burst of pain struck him. "Gimli just – just took him be-beyond the city w-w-walls – for some fresh – air. He shouldn't – be too – too hard to find. Aragorn…"

Aragorn drew him closer as he felt the elf's hand grasp one of his. _'Please,'_ he silently begged Eru, though he wasn't particular about who answered his prayer just as long as it was answered. _'Please make the bleeding stop and take away his pain. I will gladly bear it myself if you ask it of me if only his suffering ends because of it.'_

"Find King Thranduil," he stressed aloud yet again, "and Gimli while you're at it. Then contact the Lord Faramir and Lady Eowyn and tell them where to find us. Oh, and the hobbits as well."

"Yes, sire," responded Beren diligently. He turned to go but Aragorn's voice made him pause.

"Beren, make sure that the other guards know that they aren't to let any visitor that I haven't named just now into the Houses of Healing, and to let no one there to seek the help of the healers anywhere near Legolas' chamber," instructed Aragorn, his irritation mounding as he imagined all of the unwelcome people that might start crawling around the Houses even while everyone that the king wanted to be there – namely the twins – wouldn't be. "And if the lords Elladan and Elrohir happen to come strolling along, let them know that it might be nice if they could find the time to _come to Legolas' room in the Houses!"_

Beren nodded briskly, though slightly unnerved by the king's rage, and tore off so quickly that later when he remembered he would swear that his feet never had the chance to touch the ground. With those little but important details taken care of, Aragorn started to run again as well. "Hold on, Legolas," he urged, forcing his mind to think about and react to what might be before him on the path to their destination so that he didn't make a bad situation worse by crashing into something or someone.

Legolas only responded with a groan as he tried unsuccessfully to speak to the baby through the haze that stood between them. "I'll see to it that this is all over soon," Aragorn murmured the promise. "Just stay with me – you and our son."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Minas Tirith had attained such a high standing in Pippin's mind and heart that it stood only behind the Shire in terms of places that he'd gladly lay his life down to defend. It was the place where he'd spent some invaluable time alone with Gandalf; where two of the greatest Men he'd ever known – Boromir and Faramir – had come from; and where the greatest one of them all – Strider – sat as the king that he was sworn to serve. Yet there were unpleasant and horrible memories there as well, ones that Pippin feared to confront once and for all. Why he'd thought that it would be any easier now was beyond him.

"I don't know," said the youngest hobbit doubtfully as he faltered just before he led Merry and Sam out from under the archway. "This doesn't seem to be a very good idea anymore."

"This was _your_ idea, Pip," Merry reminded him, though he wasn't entirely unhappy that his cousin was backing down. It was brave and foolish and while Merry appreciated the need for both of them to deal with their pasts, he was glad that now he wasn't going to be expected to do just that in the morning.

"That doesn't mean that it was a _good _idea," protested Pippin. "Since when do I have one of those?"

"Lots of times lately, and this one's no exception," Sam both reassured and admonished at the same time. "Now Mr. Legolas and Strider faced down some rather unpleasant memories of their own from the recent past at the trial today; and I think it was very brave of you to decide that it was time for the two of you to do the same. And, Mr. Pippin, since you were the one who first got all inspired and such – and since yours is the closer one anyway – you've got to go first."

Turning his head ever so slowly, Pippin stared fearfully out at the open area before them. Suddenly the stone that stood so close and the towers that loomed overhead seemed menacing, as if the past was about to come bearing down on him once again. "Just talk to us about it," urged Sam in a tone that he'd honed well during his time as Elanor's father. "The only way to let it go for good is to get it out of your system once and for all."

Pippin nodded valiantly and after a second or two more of delaying he stepped out from the protection of the archway. The other two hobbits followed closely at his heels to support him on the rest of his journey. "I don't think I can ever forget it," he recalled aloud, remembering the panic and fear of the day – and the moment – in question. "The city was under siege and Denethor had lost his mind and decided to burn himself and Faramir alive. After he tossed me out I managed to find old Gandalf in all of that commotion. We were riding, riding up to stop him, and came through that archway" – he gestured back toward it awkwardly –"and – and then the –"

"Go on, Pippin," encouraged Merry as the hideous screams of the nazgul echoed through his time into his mind. He resisted the urge to clamp his hands over his ears; that wouldn't keep them out and it wouldn't do much to help Pippin relax.

"Why, after all of these years?"

"Because when we get back to the Shire you want to start courtin' Diamond Cleeve in earnest," said Sam knowingly. "Just like Mr. Merry wants to do the same with Estella Bolger. But before that can happen, you've got to find a way to lay all of these horrible memories to rest; and before you can do _that_ you've got to look them straight in the eye without blinking. Trust me on that."

Taking a deep breath, Pippin continued on with a renewed resolve. "We were riding and then the Witchking came flying down over _there_ –"

"Master hobbits!" Beren's hurried call interrupted the difficult narrative. The guard couldn't believe his good fortune! Stumbling across the hobbits like this would not only save him the time that it would have taken to track them down later; but also offered the opportunity of finding a way to return to his duty of protecting the king and prince almost immediately. "I cannot begin to describe how happy I am to have found you!"

"You were lookin'?" asked Sam, surprised. What would anyone want with them at that hour?

Beren nodded his head a bit breathlessly. "Yes," he confirmed. "And not just for you. There is something terribly wrong with Prince Legolas and he wants his father. King Elessar sent me to find him, along with Lord Gimli, you three, and Lord Faramir and Lady Eowyn. You are to meet them at the Houses of Healing."

"Oh no," gasped Pippin. He had known that anything worth finding someone so late would be serious, or at least complicated, but this was truly bad. "Can you tell us what's wrong with him?"

"I'm not sure if I'm the one to tell you this," Beren wavered, but their frightened eyes and concerned expressions pushed him to go on. "The king and the prince were too distracted to give many details, but the prince said that he was bleeding and he fears – he fears that he is miscarrying. It has to be something serious, as he wasn't resisting while the king carried him to the Houses."

"No, that isn't a good sign," noted Merry in a worried tone. "This is terrible! Poor Legolas, and poor Strider too! Do you think that someone's trying to kill Legolas or the baby again, or both?"

"I don't know," Beren informed him honestly, feeling the need to return to his duty even more acutely. "All I am certain of at this point are my orders: I am to find King Thranduil and Lord Gimli outside of the city walls; Lord Faramir and Lady Eowyn at their house in Minas Tirith; you hobbits, who thankfully were very easy to locate; and gather the guards under my command to tell them that only you seven are allowed to visit the Houses while Prince Legolas is there – the king is concerned about unwanted visitors. I must do all of that before I can resume my duty of protecting the prince."

Sam shook his head. "No, that won't do at all," he declared determinedly. "Protecting Legolas is the most important thing you could be doing, 'specially since no one knows what brought all of this on. You just go and find your guards and then get back to what you're supposed to be doing at once. We'll see to it that everyone who needs the word gets it."

Beren didn't need to be told twice. With a quick but grateful "Thank you" and a quiet vow that he'd make it up to them later for his albeit harmless manipulation, he ran off, leaving Sam in command of the situation. "All right then," said the simple gardener hobbit who was really anything but simple. "Mr. Merry, you go find Captain Faramir and the lady. Sounds like there's gong to be some political mumbo-jumbo to deal with and Strider's not going to be in the mood for it. He's going to need his steward and his steward's going to need his wife. Mr. Pippin, since you're the quickest of the lot of us I think you should be the one to run down to Gimli and the king."

"And what are you going to be doing while we're running about?" demanded Merry with an irritated edge and Pippin nodded in agreement. They didn't want to be running errands right now – they wanted to be with their friends, waiting for word on how Legolas was faring!

"Telling Rose and the kids why I won't be back for awhile," replied Sam grimly. "From what it sounds like, Mr. Legolas is going to be at the Houses for awhile – and so are we."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

The night had grown dark a little while beforehand but Thranduil had refused to retire inside the walls. Though he was tired and getting a little cold, Gimli had decided to keep him company no matter how much he was beginning to doubt that the elf could really see anything without the sunlight. "Are you sure?" Gimli asked yet again, for it wasn't in a dwarf's nature to suffer doubt in silence. "How can even elf eyes see anything right now? For all you know they could have stopped for the night."

"No, Gimli," responded Thranduil, his eyes not leaving the movement he was watching diligently in the distance. "You would be surprised what I can perceive when the need is great and I tell you that Elladan and Elrohir and riding forth even as we speak! They are too close now for it to make sense for them to halt and make camp, especially since they must still be operating under the assumption that Legolas is 'mysteriously ill' or whatever that snail of a messenger told them. They will be here shortly."

"Good," broke in an unexpected but not unwelcome voice coming from behind them. Thranduil and Gimli spun around to look at Pippin, whose cheeks were flushed red and was panting from his recent run. "Are they coming in a hurry, then?"

"Hello, young hobbit," greeted Gimli warmly but with an underlying ill-at-ease tone. "What brings you out so late at night?"

"Legolas," replied Pippin in a worried voice that succeeded in capturing both of their attentions immediately. "There's something wrong with Legolas; something that has Strider carrying him off to the healers right quick. According to the guard we spoke to Legolas said that he's bleeding –"

"But this guard didn't see the wound?" interrupted Gimli, trying to sort out the sudden onset of uncertainty and concern. "What kind of ninny-hammer guard is he to not see that?"

One terrible word flashed into Thranduil's mind; he didn't want to say it aloud, but he had to know. "The guard did not see it because it is not that kind of a wound," he said, dreadfully staring down at the hobbit. "Legolas fears that he is having a miscarriage, does he not?"

A broken cry escaped Thranduil's lips when Pippin silently confirmed his worst fears. Oh, after all that they had endured, to lose the child now would be devastating to everyone – not least of all to his Little Greenleaf. "I have to go to him," he said out loud but to himself.

"That's the idea," said Pippin sincerely, "because he's been asking for you."

"Yes, yes, of course," Thranduil responded, his most intense parental instincts taking over. "I will go there right away."

"I'd best come too," added Gimli hastily. "But what about the twins?"

Thranduil's heart froze. What he'd been so focused on for a good part of the evening had slipped his mind so easily when he learned that his son and grandson were in danger. Elladan and Elrohir couldn't be forgotten, however; they would have to be directed to the Houses of Healing right away if they were going to be of any help to Legolas. Searching about helplessly, his eyes finally landed on Pippin. "May I ask of you the most important favor that I have ever asked of anyone?" he requested apologetically.

"Do you want me to stay here in the dark to wait for Strider's brothers." It was more of statement than a question.

The king pointed out to the moving shapes that only his elven eyes could see. "They will be coming from that direction in a half hour at the most," he said, sounding more convinced than he actually felt. If they did stop to make camp for the night he was going to kill them. "Let them know wall that is going on the second you see them. Waste no time or words, master hobbit – I fear that the lives of my son and grandson rest on how quickly they can reach Legolas' side."

To be continued…

_A/N: Sorry, no birth yet (next chapter…maybe…if I feel like it) _:)


	34. Too early and too late?

_A/N: I actually did research to find the herbs mentioned in this chapter. I don't promise that what I'm saying about them is 100 correct, but I'm sure that they're the right herbs in this circumstance because I found this information on a website that I don't know who runs, that I've never seen before, and that I will probably never go to again._

"I have never smelled this terrible in my entire life," groaned Elladan for lack of anything better to say.

He looked plaintively at his two riding companions for comfort, support, or at least confirmation and acknowledgement. It was a wasted effort, however; the Mannish messenger couldn't see that clearly in the dark and Elrohir wasn't in the mood to humor his brother. "Quit complaining," said Elrohir not all that good-naturedly.

"But it's _bad_," emphasized Elladan, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to really comprehend how much he was annoying his twin at the moment. "It's really rather revolting. I mean, I smell like Estel did during his 'Strider' years! It was a good thing that he's a Man because no elf could stomach stinking like this for years on end. Ai Elbereth, it's a wonder that Legolas fell for him in the first place if he reeked half as much as I do right now."

Elrohir gripped his horse's mane, trying to balance his hold between being loose enough not to hurt or confuse the animal but tight enough to keep him from lunging at his brother and just smacking him until he learned when was the right time to be quiet. Not that this behavior was new or unexpected – Elladan tended to babble on about nothing when he was worried and not kept busy – but he'd never been exposed to quite this serious a case of it for such a prolonged period of time. While Elrohir could understand his concern about the well being of both their unborn nephew and his birthing ada there were limits to his tolerance and he'd reached them long before they'd met the messenger on the road who'd born news of Legolas' violent and mysterious illness.

Unfortunately that report only made the journey more stressful; besides the obvious increased trepidation about Legolas' pregnancy it had also fueled Elladan's anxiousness. The journey from that point on became more difficult and provided him with plenty of fodder for his ramblings to essentially irritate his already frazzled twin. They were forced to push on hard, eating whatever they could keep a hold of and digest while still riding instead of halting briefly for mealtimes and stopping only when it was a choice between that and having their horses collapse and possibly die from exhaustion. Those pauses dragged on from seemingly years while they waited to continue on and yet felt like they were only seconds long once they had to mount again.

The hardships that were influencing Elladan and Elrohir's current moods were the lack of rest and time to bathe. Instead of sleeping every other night by alternating turns to take watch both had only managed to doze a little while depending on their horses not to let them fall off. Bathing used to take place before those nights of rest when they were close to a river; now it was a luxury that neither one of them could afford to indulge in. While Elrohir knew that tending to Legolas and the baby would be their top priority once they entered the city he couldn't deny that he was really looking forward to soaking in a nice warm bath before sleeping for hours – days – in one of the soft beds in the guest chambers of the citadel.

Until then, though, he would have to endure Elladan's obnoxious blathering. Thank Elbereth the city was in sight! "So," Elladan said to the messenger, thus slightly sparing his brother, "have _you_ ever smelled anything as awful as me right now?"

Riding between the twin elf lords so as not to journey off course while blinded by the pitch black of the night, the messenger was shifting uncomfortably in his saddle instead of paying attention to anything being said to him. He wished that they had gotten to the city days ago, and not just because traveling in the sole company of two elves made him feel ill at ease, or that their arguing had gone from somewhat amusing to really grating after about an hour of it, or that he'd never ridden for so long at once before and he was getting very sore. His pregnant prince consort was desperately ill, most likely by foul and underhanded means, and the future of the entire realm was at stake! For all he knew, Prince Legolas, the child, or both could have died while he was away and the whole frenzied, miserable journey had been for naught. Why was it impossible for them to go faster?

"We should have been there by now," the messenger muttered under his breath so quietly that no Man could have heard him.

It was, however, not so low that an elf couldn't overhear. "And how would that be exactly?" questioned Elrohir sharply. The Man was frustrated – something that he could easily empathize with – but this was ridiculous. That complaint and its surprisingly numerous variations had been all that the messenger seemed capable of contributing to any conversation. It was enough to make Elrohir almost long his brother's meaningless ramblings. "The only way that we could have gone any faster was if we'd somehow grown wings and flown. Beyond that I can't fathom what you think that we could have done to shorten our journey. Come on, Man; if you have any suggestions I will be more than glad to hear them!"

"I didn't mean it as a criticism," replied the Man tightly. He'd witnessed Elrohir's patience dwindling at an alarming rate over the past week and was suddenly nervous that the elf lord would elect to abandon him in the dark if he felt provoked. Arguing with his traveling party wouldn't make the time go by any more quickly anyway. "I just…wish that I could do more than this. I am a soldier of Gondor, for pity's sake! My king's spouse and heir are in danger and all I can apparently do to help them is to ride about blindly in the dark." He clamped his mouth shut and released his breath slowly and heavily through his nose. "I apologize, my lords; my outburst was completely out of line."

"Do you think that we can't understand that?" Elladan asked him, sounding deflated but not unkind. "Your king just happens to be our little brother and he, Legolas, and their child are the only family that we have left in Middle-earth. Believe me, if I could have sprouted a couple of those hypothetical wings I would have left you two choking on my gusts of wind a long time ago."

"And you've already performed a valuable service to both your king and to Gondor," added Elrohir, feeling a bit guilty about his snappish mood and relieved to be able to focus on something else. "If you hadn't have come along, following a route that must have seemed insane to you instead of the one that Men usually use, and relayed Estel's message we would have arrived at Minas Tirith reasonably clean, well rested, and about two weeks later than right now."

The messenger's ears perked up at the implication in Elrohir's last phrase. "Right now?" he repeated eagerly. He had seen the White City before the sun went down but hadn't been able to gage how long the rest of their ride was going to be until they reached their destination. "Is Minas Tirith close at hand then? Are we almost there?"

"It's straight ahead," replied Elrohir as he nodded in the direction of the city, a gesture that was completely lost on the Man in the dark. "And I would estimate that we have about ten more minutes of riding left until we get there."

"There's even a one-person welcome party awaiting our arrival – look, brother." Elladan pointed at Pippin off in the distance. The little hobbit was restlessly pacing about but constantly keeping his head turned so that he could look in their direction. "Do you think that he can see us? I wasn't aware that hobbits had such keen eyesight."

"I don't believe that they do," said Elrohir ponderously. He tested his theory by waving vigorously for several seconds and felt it confirmed when Pippin failed to respond in any way. "Strange; but I would still swear that he's waiting for us."

"Is that a good sign or a bad sign?" wondered the messenger apprehensively.

"We'd better not delay in finding out," answered Elrohir. He patted his loyal and steadfast horse. "Can you endure running any faster, mellon nin? I swear to you that once we get to the city I will let you rest until you decide it's time for me to ride again."

He could feel the animal's growing exhaustion being pushed down by its determination and love for his master. Giving a great snort that startled the other two riders and signaled for the other horses to get ready, the horse took off in a dead run. Elladan and Elrohir adjusted fairly easily to the change of pace but the guard, disoriented by his inability to see much, only managed to stay on his horse's back through the twins' intervention.

"Maybe his presence doesn't have anything to do with us," shouted Elladan over the sound of the beasts' footfalls. A sudden wicked smile broke across his face. "It could just be that they needed people of intelligence to guard the gate…door…thing."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Hobbits weren't generally known for their ability to wait patiently for long periods of time – any periods of time, come to think of it – and Pippin was no exception. The temperature of the air was dropping rapidly, the sky was getting darker, and the hour was growing later. The twenty-five minutes that he'd spent waiting for the twin's arrival felt more like twenty-five years and left him feeling weary and anxious. The others must have completed their assigned tasks and gathered at the Houses of Healing by now and he was stuck waiting for people that he wouldn't be able to see until he was practically nose-to-nose with them!

Pippin could be forgiven for resenting his temporary exclusion from Legolas' circle of supporters. Having been the one to discover the elf vomiting in the stables at Bree those months ago he felt an odd kind of protectiveness toward him. There was nothing that he could do to help him, of course, save be there and make various desperate prayers to higher beings to spare Legolas and his son but being denied the chance to do that little bit was more than Pippin could bear. He hated being away from the people he loved when they needed all the support that they could get. Couldn't the twins, just this once, actually arrive earlier than predicted?

He was most gratified then when he heard a call coming from somewhere close by in the darkness. "Greetings, master hobbit!" said Elladan lightly, happy to see someone new to talk to and determined not to assume the worst. "What brings you out of the city so late on a fine evening such as this?"

"Legolas," answered Pippin bluntly as the three riders became visible to him. The sense of déjà vu was making him a little dizzy – hadn't he just had this conversation with Gimli and Thranduil? "I'm here to make sure that you and Elrohir – or you and Elladan, depending on which one you are and which one your brother is; I could never tell you apart – get to Legolas' chamber in the Houses of Healing and _not_ in the citadel. You have to get there right away, too; he's in terrible need of your care and I don't know if he has time to wait for us to even have this conversation."

"Then ride with us," said Elladan, pulling the hobbit up onto the horse to sit in front of him before the hobbit could agree or object, "and you can give us as many details as you can on the way?"

"Is he still sick with that illness that Estel sent his message about?" questioned Elrohir as the gates opened for them – it appeared that Pippin hadn't been the only one waiting for their return. The seriousness of the situation was driving out all other emotions besides those that made him an excellent healer. With having Estel and a fair number of other competent healers at hand, as well as possessing a natural power to heal (albeit one that had been diminished slightly in his current condition), Elrohir had expected the elf's condition to have at least improved by now. Perhaps the pregnancy was taking a worse toll on Legolas' health than they'd originally predicted.

"No, it's not that," Pippin told them. "Well, maybe it is; after all, no one knew that he'd been poisoned that time –"

"He was _poisoned_?" cried Elladan. The messenger's hand instinctively curled around the hilt of his sword at hearing that a member of the royal family had been attacked in such a manner.

"Yes," responded Pippin hastily, "but it didn't take them all that long for them to figure that out. It wasn't even a day, thanks to King Thranduil and Gimli and all of those healers, and Legolas recovered fine really quickly. Well, physically anyway; he and Strider were having some problems that the rest of us weren't supposed to notice. It was stress and stuff like that; and not knowing who was responsible for the poisoning for another week just made it worse, but it's all right now. They've worked things out and are acting all lovely-dovey again and that horrible woman was sentenced to the dungeons and exiled today. All of this was supposed to be over with; Legolas was supposed to have a relaxing last month of pregnancy but he had to be rushed to the Houses a little less than an hour ago!"

The twins exchanged glances while the messenger bowed his head. Elladan and Elrohir's heads were swimming with questions but most of them could wait until a more appropriate time. One, however, was vital. "Do you know what symptoms he's showing, Master Peregrin?" grilled Elrohir.

"Bleeding," answered Pippin simply and distraught. "I don't know how much, but he thinks that he might be having a miscarriage. That's where King Thranduil's mind went to too when I told him all of this."

"The Valar save us all," gasped the messenger.

Elladan shut his eyes briefly. "He's early."

"Yes, and we might be too late," noted Elrohir grimly.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

While the twins were greeting Pippin outside of the gate, Legolas' chamber in the Houses was full of talking and activity. Healers and healing women were filtering in so many numbers that he couldn't have kept count he'd wanted to. The elf was in no condition to do any such thing, of course; he laid on the bed with his knees bent and spread, too consumed with his fear and the increasingly frequent contractions to care about details like how many people were there and if his robe was adequately preserving his modesty. "I can't lose this child," he moaned to Gimli and his father, who was wiping his brow tenderly. "If he dies my grief will kill me."

"You must be strong right now, my sweet, precious Little Greenleaf," Thranduil told him, trying to keep his eyes off of the ominous red stains on his robe and the sheets below him. "Your son needs you to fight for the both of you, not worry about what might not happen."

"I'm sorry, Ada," Legolas choked out. "I don't regret loving Aragorn but this feeling…. I can't stand knowing that I have inflicted this type of grief upon you. I love you, Ada, and I'm causing you so much pain…"

Thranduil kissed his forehead. "Shhh," he hushed him. "I love you too, Little Greenleaf, and you have been the only reason why I bother facing each new day since the moment that your mother first placed you in my arms."

At the end of Legolas' bed Aragorn was huddled with, among others, the warden of the Houses and Ioreth, the healing woman whom his husband had the most regard for. "There was some blackberry nearby when we first got here," he was explaining in the most frightening supposedly rational voice that they'd ever heard. "I applied that right away but since that's only for minor wounds it's only slowed the bleeding. We must find a permanent way to stop the bleeding entirely. Does anyone here have any idea about how we can do that?"

"We just boiled some peonies into a draught yesterday," offered one of the healers. "It's a very potent healing method for bleeding, sire; I've seen it stop heavy blood flow immediately."

"And it's also deadly if it's not administered properly," shot back Aragorn. "It's too easy to turn that remedy into a poison. We should only resort to using it if there is truly no other alternative." He forced himself to think clearly for a moment. "Wait – harfy! Do we have any harfy?"

"I'm afraid that we ran out of it just two days ago," Ioreth reported. "That's why the peony draught was made – we haven't had the chance to restock harfy yet. It's a pity about that too; that's the best herb for major bleeding – that's why we keep running out of it. Should we consider using yarrow instead?"

"This is a bit more serious than a nosebleed, don't you think?" snapped the warden impatiently. "I would suggest using periwinkle in this case, your majesty – it's excellent at treating both internal and external bleeding."

Ioreth bristled at her admittedly inadequate suggestion being pushed aside for something that she could see was so dangerous. "That also serves to _close_ the wound!"

"Is that not the point?"

Disgusted, she turned away from the warden to face Aragorn, the only person whose opinion really mattered in that circle, straight on. "While I cannot say that it is the true source of the bleeding, sire," she argued darkly, conveying the gravity of what she was saying in her tone, "where the blood is coming out of is the prince's birth canal. It's finally forming – I _know_ it. Since we don't have a proper understanding about what causes it to form and how stable it is, we can't in good conscience do anything that might make it close. Prince Legolas and the baby would most likely die before we figured out what happened."

"If the prince continues to bleed as he is now they will both die anyway," the warden pointed out.

Aragorn remembered the fear he'd had when he'd first been informed of Legolas' last mysterious malady: being forced to choose between the life of his husband and that of his child. If they used the periwinkle and the birth canal did close so late on in labor when they weren't prepared to cut the elf open the baby might indeed die, though Legolas still had a better chance at being spared. However, if Legolas kept bleeding, he would die but the baby would most likely live. He looked desperately at his husband in the hopes of receiving some sort of epiphany and heard Legolas' voice drift down: "If he dies my grief will kill me."

"I…won't be scared into making a rash decision," the king finally declared. "Legolas _and_ the baby are to both be cared as best we can. Ioreth, I want you to keep applying the blackberry – among all who work at the Houses Legolas feels most comfortable with you."

"It will be an honor, sire," she answered proudly and protectively.

"The rest of you," Aragorn continued, looking to the other healers and healing women, "will scour the city for harfy. Knock on every door and wake everyone up if necessary. I won't dismiss using this herb until we know for certain that none of it is in the city. Warden," he added, pulling the Man closer and lowering his voice a little. "You need to get that peony draught ready just in case – and make _damn_ sure that you know exactly how much to administer."

They all nodded and the warden led the procession to the door. When he opened it, however, he stopped short and let out a surprised cry that mingled with the shouts of relief that came from the royal couple's friends who were waiting outside. "Will everyone just move out of the way?" insisted the most welcome and infuriating voice that Legolas and Aragorn had ever heard.

Elladan and Elrohir none too gently pushed their way through the throng of healers and healing women into the chamber. "Where in Mordor have you two been?" demanded Aragorn furiously.

"Don't bother them with that now," pleaded Legolas from the bed. He turned his despairing eyes onto the twins. "I'm bleeding so much. Make it stop, I beg of you. I will do anything if only you make it stop. In the name of Elbereth, _please make it stop_!"

The twins brushed quickly past Aragorn. Elrohir went to the foot of the bed and immediately started rifling through his pack. Ioreth started to ask him if he should move, but he just shook his head distractedly. "Don't stop treating him now," he ordered. "But do be prepared to move when I tell you to."

In the meantime, Elladan rushed to Legolas' side, displacing Thranduil and Gimli and taking the elven king's cloth with as much gentleness as he could manage at the moment. "Pardon me," his sense of politeness made him say to them automatically as he knelt down and resumed wiping Legolas' brow. "You must calm yourself as much as you can, Legolas," he went on to instruct his friend. "This whole situation has been very frightening for you, but getting too worked up won't help you or the baby. I know it doesn't seem like it, but all of this is actually normal."

"Normal?" sputtered out Gimli incredulously. "Almost bleeding to..." His face blanched at what he almost said. "Well, you know – that's _normal_?"

"The birth canal is not going to be permanent, master dwarf," said Elrohir, still searching. "And when a non-permanent hole isformed on your body, you can be sure that bleeding is going to be involved in its creation. Think about it; it's so logical that of course we didn't realize it until we read it in several of Ada's books. Oh, thank Eru!"

Ioreth stared curiously as the elf pulled what looked like a lump of clay wrapped in large leaves out of his pack. "What's that?" she wondered.

Elrohir grabbed a spare cloth that was within reaching distance and wasted no time in spearing the clay-like substance on it. "It's the herb Golden Crown made into a poultice – move," he commanded. She complied instantly and he started applying it to Legolas' skin. "Elves have used it for as long as we can remember to stem the bleeding that takes place after a female gives birth but we found during our research that it's also invaluable in stemming the bleeding that happens before males give birth. We'll get this bleeding under control, Legolas; but now I must ask all of you – not you, Ioreth – to leave."

Thranduil and Gimli reluctantly dragged their feet away. Aragorn was relieved to have his brothers there at last – now he could take his proper place by his husband's side. "You too, Estel," ordered Elrohir when he saw his little brother start to move away from the door rather than toward it.

Aragorn was incensed. All of his good feelings toward Elladan and Elrohir evaporated instantly – how dare they have the nerve to leave Legolas' health dangling by not coming back until the last possible second and then just tell him to leave like he was some sort of interloper or pesky child? He wasn't ten-years-old anymore – he was the king of Gondor! "I – will – not," he said stubbornly, enunciating each word.

Elladan murmured something inaudible to Legolas, who bit his lip but nodded in response. With a grateful smile, the dark-haired elf rose to his feet and walked deliberately over to Aragorn. "Estel," he said in a low voice, "I cannot stress how vital it is that you don't argue with us on this point."

"I don't see what merit there would be in me leaving," persisted Aragorn. This was one argument that he wasn't going to back down from! "I'll stay out of your way, but he needs me to be with him and I need to stay."

"Estel." Elladan truly looked pained. "I can't put this in any other way: you may have noticed that the birth isn't going well. We can control the bleeding now but ideally the poultice should have been applied when it first started, or at least when it was first noticed. Legolas has lost more blood than he should have; perhaps even too much."

Aragorn's heart twisted when he realized what his older brother was telling him. "Don't lose hope," urged Elladan, seeing the look on his face. "I didn't say that he was lost for sure. It is, however, going to take all of Elrohir and my attentions to keep you from becoming a widower and we won't be able to focus if you're in here watching and fretting. For Legolas' sake, please wait outside."

"I can't – do this; I can't lose him."

"I know," sympathized Elladan as he turned his little brother over to Gimli and Thranduil to walk out the door. "And we'll do everything in our power to make sure that doesn't happen."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Faramir watched his king pace anxiously as he hovered close to the door to Legolas' chamber. Some time had passed since that door had closed quietly behind Aragorn, during which numerous healers and healing women had run in and out but provided no new information. He and Eowyn were sitting together with the hobbits, trying to keep up their optimism while jumping every time they heard footsteps or the door slam. Thranduil was too emotional to seek comfort from so many people and chose to brood a little ways off; Gimli stayed with him, offering him support while trying to keep his own worry at bay. Only Aragorn had remained so isolated in that small, crowded space and Faramir worried that the situation was driving the king mad.

Knowing that any more attempts to comfort him would only fail, Faramir chose to try to distract Aragorn instead. Keeping his busy might allow him to gather his wits again. "Sire," said the steward. He refused to be discouraged when Aragorn didn't even react to hearing his voice. "Should we contact the council about the imminence of your son's birth?"

"No," answered Aragorn dully, not taking his eyes off the door. "I don't know…what other news there will be. I can't imagine telling them a little bit at a time," he added mournfully.

"Aragorn, sit down," Eowyn told him sternly, with both the mother and shield-maiden warrior parts of her in her voice. "Working yourself up into a stupor isn't going to help Legolas. Just sit down and breathe for a minute."

"I can't," said Aragorn tensely. "I can't –"

A shrill cry broke through the air that made everyone jump and look to the door. _'That's coming from Legolas' room,'_ thought Aragorn dimly, too exhausted to process what that meant for several seconds. He stared dumbly as realization set it: _'That's_ my _son crying. I'm a father!'_

"That's my baby!" he cried stupidly, rushing at the door.

He shouldn't have bothered; just as his charge was coming to an end the door flew open anyway, slamming against his body in the process. "I'm so sorry, your majesty!" exclaimed the young healing woman on the other side. Her eyes were shining as excitement made her speak so quickly that it was difficult for the king to get a word in. "I just came to tell you – it's an _honor_ to tell you – that you have a beautiful son! He's healthy too, despite all that he's been through and how early his birth was. You should see him, sire; he's got this tuft of dark hair, the most incredible blue eyes, and his ears! Adorable little points on both of them! We're getting him cleaned up and ready for you as we speak. I'll go check on how that's going and come get you when –"

"Wait!" Aragorn cried desperately before she could vanish from sight again. "I'm so happy to hear about my son, but what about his other father? How's Legolas?"

"He's…" she hesitated and peered over her shoulder into the chamber. "I'm sorry, sire, but that's something that I think would be best if you discussed with the Lords Elladan and Elrohir."

She rushed back inside and shut the door before anyone could ask her any more questions.

To be continued…

_A/N: This chapter was running a little long and I was tempted to cut it off when Elladan and Elrohir kicked everyone out of the room but a lot of you were really looking forward to the birth and I did promise…_

_By the way, I don't know too much about birth complications – that stuff that Aragorn was thinking about when he was wondering about how he could choose between Legolas and the baby was totally made up._


	35. The next generation

Aragorn watched numbly as the door closed in his face yet again. Emotions warred within him as he struggled with all that he was imagining was happening on the other side of that damnable piece of wood. There was joy – oh, yes there was joy: his son, his baby, the child that he and his beloved husband created against all odds through their love and commitment was in there, being cleaned up so that he could hold him soon. Aragorn's arms twitched at the thought and he was keenly aware at how empty they were. He would give almost anything to be in there right now, watching them bathe his son or even being the one doing the bathing before happily picking him up and carrying him to Legolas…

And there was the source of the fear and confusion that was trying to strangle his elation: what was Legolas' condition? That woman had refused to tell him anything, an occurrence that Aragorn was most definitely _not_ used to now that he was the king. By the Valar, he usually had more problems with people trying to answer his questions without knowing all of the information! He could understand – even appreciate – that she didn't want to diagnose Legolas' condition if she didn't know enough about it, but to not give even an observation when the king of Gondor explicitly asked a question was unheard of. It made no sense to Aragorn, unless…unless she didn't want to be the one to tell her ruler that his spouse was dead…

"No," he cried out; dear Elbereth, was that really his voice? It sounded weak, thin, and utterly shattered – everything that his life would become if Legolas hadn't survived the birth. "Legolas, no!"

"Aragorn!" Faramir practically flew to his feet instantaneously to restrain the Man before he could charge into the chamber. Aragorn wasn't thinking rationally and the steward felt queasy as he imagined what might happen if he stormed in before Elladan and Elrohir could finish tending to the elf. The king would hate himself forever if he did anything that compromised Legolas' health and it was Faramir's duty as both the steward and his friend to make sure that didn't happen.

Aragorn clearly didn't appreciate his efforts. With a wordless shriek, he fought wildly against Faramir's grasp. The other Man was jerked around more than he would have liked to have been but he managed to maintain his hold. "Not yet, Aragorn," advised Faramir desperately. "Give your brothers and the healers a chance to do their jobs."

One last particularly vicious wrench sent the two Men down on their knees. Faramir took advantage of the situation by immediately resting all of his weight on Aragorn's back and putting his arms totally around him, smothering any more attempts to break free. "My husband's in there!" shrieked the king hysterically. "My baby's in there! My _life_ is in that chamber and they won't tell me anything! I have to make them – I have to go in there!"

"Yes you do, but _not right now_," stressed Faramir, speaking in the same tone that he would use to talk to a frightened child or a deranged lunatic. "Your brothers had you leave so that they could devote their entire attentions to Legolas, correct? Now you must have the strength and courage to let them continue without interruption until they deem the time is right for you to enter again."

"But she said that Legolas –"

Faramir took a deep breath. "She didn't tell you anything about the state of Legolas' health," he said, hoping that his voice would remain steady and calming for as long as he needed it to. "We can't just assume the worst has happened because one healing woman was reluctant to give out any news. Why, I don't believe that she would have been too involved in caring for Legolas; more likely she was assisting with the birth itself. No one in her position would want to report to the king about the condition of the prince consort without being sure of the accuracy of her information. Of course she wouldn't tell you, Aragorn."

"She didn't even say if he was awake or not," sobbed Aragorn. Faramir could feel the violent tremors move throughout his back. "Why wouldn't she at least tell me that unless he's – unless he's –"

"Aragorn, you're not thinking rationally right now," stated Eowyn as she joined her husband and the king on the floor. Very gently, she took hold of Aragorn's hands and drew them away from their hold on Faramir's arms. "If Legolas was truly gone, wouldn't it stand to reason that she would feel obligated to say _something_? If there was nothing else that anyone could do for him, do you seriously think that she, or your brothers for that matter, would see any benefit in not telling you right away? No one in the Houses of Healing is cruel, Aragorn; they want you to have the most correct and useful information about Legolas' condition and at the moment that means waiting for it to come."

"But why not tell me _something_?"

"It sounds to me as if there were some complications," she told him wisely and kindly. "Matters that only the twins could fully understand and properly treat. She didn't tell you about those because they probably didn't feel the need to share them with her; and she hesitated to report any observations because she didn't understand what was causing his condition. Think about it; it would be horribly callous to say that she thinks he looks like he's near-death and therefore causing you more heartache. It would also bring you so much anguish later if she chose to be optimistic and said that she believed that Legolas would recover if she didn't know if there was a chance that he could pass on very soon. Just try – _try_ – to calm down."

Not trusting his shaken nerves, Aragorn let his hands slip from hers and clutched at the hem of his tunic tightly to keep from ripping out his own hair in despair. "Elladan and Elrohir –"

"If they aren't out here with you then they're probably still treating him," Faramir cut him off. "The lords haven't given up on Legolas yet and neither should you." He swiveled his head around to look pointedly at everyone else in that tiny area. "And the same applies to all those who are present. We must have hope now, for Legolas' sake as well as our own. Remember, my friends, that more hopeless recoveries under much more harsh conditions have happened in these Houses before."

The hobbits were still sitting on the bench, having drawn one another into a crushing embrace when Aragorn had broken down. Now they lifted their heads and slowly detangled themselves so that they could stand up. "A-a-all r-r-r-rig-right," stammered Pippin. His face was ashen and he didn't bother to hide his tears but he did make the effort to keep his jaw from quaking.

"Yes," Faramir smiled at him. "We must believe that Legolas is all right now."

Sam gripped Pippin's shoulder. "Births don't always go all smoothly," he offered. His glance darted between Aragorn, Faramir, and his fellow hobbits but he couldn't bear looking into any of their raw emotions for too long. "Baby Frodo's birth was hard on my Rosie and she needed more attention from the midwives than what's normal. But that turned out all well in the end; she just needed a little extra care and rest."

"And this place is wonderful for healing the body and soul," piped in Merry, audibly struggling to be brave. "After the Battle of Pelennor Fields people were figuring that me, you Faramir, and you Eowyn were goners and trying to send us all off to our final resting places. But here was are, all because Aragorn didn't give up on us and made sure that we got the care that we needed. We should be even more reassured to know that Elladan and Elrohir are the ones taking care of Legolas – they learned from Lord Elrond, after all, and he was the healer that saved Frodo after he'd been stabbed by – on Weathertop. I don't think we could ask for a better location or finer healers."

"My son is not dead."

The voice of Thranduil sliced through the air, and the weight of its conviction and gravity lingered all around them. The elven king hadn't moved from the place that he'd been occupying ever since he'd left Legolas' chamber. Upon hearing the healing woman's hesitation and witnessing Aragorn's distraught reaction he'd grown deathly still, looking more like a marble statue – cold and pale – than a living being. His hands were clinging to Gimli's though, with such a tight hold that his knuckles were even whiter than the rest of him. Beside him the dwarf bowed his head silently and the others could see his body shake with repressed sobs.

"My son is not dead," repeated Thranduil hollowly. "I would feel it if he had passed on. Legolas possesses a power and strength that you do not understand, Aragorn. I cannot claim to understand it either but I still have faith in it – and him. I will not believe that mortality has taken my son away from me until I behold his lifeless body with my own eyes. Do not mourn him prematurely."

"I'm trying – I'm not – I can't –" Aragorn wanted to tell his father-in-law that he did understand Legolas' strength and steadfast resolve; that he _knew_ that his husband was capable of achieving the impossible and that his behavior was more of a reflection of his own lack of strength rather than a commentary on Legolas'. Words escaped him, however, and he had to settle on: "I just need him to be all right."

"And when you need for something to happen, you choose to act as if it hadn't instead of continuing to believe that it will?" pressed Thranduil in a strangely solid tone that made Aragorn feel like he was being given something firm to stand on again.

"No, sir," the king answered.

"Then have hope that he will survive this," advised the elf. "Let Legolas find even more strength in that."

It wasn't much, but Aragorn now had something new to focus on. "I will," he voiced, though with each passing second it became harder to do. "Be strong for Legolas," he told himself out loud. "What else can I do? I have to be able to do something else."

Gimli stared at the door long and hard as if he was willing it to open and share the secrets that lay beyond. When that didn't happen he closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. "We all feel that way, lad," he told Aragorn. "But I'm afraid that all we can do right now is hope and wait."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

It could have been a few minutes or several hours before the door opened again – it all felt like a life age of the earth for Aragorn. He wasn't pacing anymore, since Faramir and Eowyn seemed to fear that he would try to break down the door if he was left to his own devices. Instead they were keeping a tight hold either arm as he sat sandwiched between them, feeling the tenseness in his muscles. Off in the distance the Man could hear Sam speaking to one of the errand runners for the healers, asking him to please send a message to Rose. Closer by, Merry and Pippin could be heard whispering quietly to each other and Gimli was anxiously rambling on to a pretty much unresponsive Thranduil that _of course_ Legolas was going to be all right. Aragorn couldn't focus on any of this, though; he was too busy trying to wrap his mind around all of the questions that were swimming in his head. Was Legolas really fine? Where was his son? What would his future be like if one of them, or both of them, wasn't in it?

Finally, just when Aragorn was preparing to break away from his self-appointed minders and make their worst fears come true by destroying the door it opened, slowly and clumsily as if the person doing so had a reason for moving so carefully. Everyone in that waiting area simultaneously rose to their feet and gathered together as Ioreth appeared, pushing the door open with her back because her arms were full.

Aragorn raised a trembling hand to his mouth. "Is that – is that –" he stuttered, staring in awe at the bundle that was wrapped in a blanket. It was a foolish question to be sure – what else would it have been but a baby and whose else but his? – but the Man was barely capable of thinking at that point, let alone reasoning.

Ioreth smiled indulgently as she walked over to him. "Indeed it is," she said happily through her exhaustion. "It is my privilege to present your son to you. Do you wish to hold him now, sire?"

"Yes; oh, yes." Aragorn sucked in a breath as the healing woman placed the baby in his arms. Looking into the child's oddly squished face, Aragorn decided in his completely unbiased opinion that he was absolutely perfect. The brown hair on his head had an adorable curl in the front and was impossibly soft and oh-so-inviting to run the tips of his fingers across. Two delicate points on his ears left no question that he belonged to the elven race just as much as he belonged to the race of Men. What really took Aragorn's breath away, however, were his son's eyes; the king had fallen in love with someone who had eyes exactly like that before and it was happening all over again. It was as if Legolas was looking at him through his son's stare…

"Why is his head all pointy like that?" asked Pippin from behind Aragorn, having stood on the bench so that he could get a better view. He certainly hoped that the baby didn't have to go through the rest of his life with such an elongated skull.

"That's just the way it's shaped right now because of the birthing," Sam told him knowledgeably. "It'll flatten out to normal soon enough."

It was just harmless conversation and observations born out of the curiosity of the people who loved his husband almost as much as he did but Aragorn felt nervous all of the sudden. He raised his eyes discreetly to look around. They all seemed happy, but what would happen if one of them asked to hold the baby? They might think of it as their right but he knew in his heart that it couldn't be, not yet. Aragorn was uncomfortable enough with the idea that people were looking at him without putting their hands all over him too. _'That's not irrational,'_ he told himself stubbornly. After all, it wasn't fair that so many people had gotten to see the baby when his birthing ada might not have. Legolas deserved to be the second non-healer to hold the baby and Aragorn was determined to make sure that no one else got the chance to do so before that time.

He tightened his hold so that no one could snatch the baby away without a fight. "Thank you, Ioreth," he said. "He's wonderful. But how does Legolas fare?"

"The lords Elladan and Elrohir wish to speak with you," answered Ioreth gently. The king's face blanched and he hastened to continue. "The prince was still alive when I left the room just now, but there were – problems that only they are qualified to talk to you about. Your brothers have a gift that not even the most skilled healer here has and it was because of them that the prince survived the birth. Your husband is strong, King Elessar; but now is the time for you to see him again. Would you like me to take the baby while you go in there?"

"No – no," answered Aragorn quickly. He practically curled himself around the boy and hurried away into the birthing chamber before she could carry out her threat to separate them.

His heart almost stopped when at last he laid eyes on Legolas. The elf was lying deathly still on the bed, a blanket drawn meticulously to his chest as if to ward of a chill that those of his race shouldn't be able to feel. His face was much paler than usual, almost translucent, and those eyes, the same eyes that their son had, were – dear Elbereth, _no_ – closed. The lids weren't shut tightly, as if he were trying not to see something terrible, or loosely, as if he were just blinking; there was no thought in how they had closed because the person they were attached to didn't choose for them to do so. Only a slight movement of the blanket at his chest going up and down and the fact that his brothers weren't crying were the only indications that Aragorn had that Legolas was even alive. "My love," the Man sobbed out.

Elladan and Elrohir's heads snapped up; Aragorn knew at that moment that they'd been too wrapped up in their own thoughts to hear anyone come in. "Estel," whispered Elladan hoarsely, slowly setting Legolas' hand that he'd been holding back down on the bed and walking over to his younger brother.

Elrohir stroked the prince's brow once more before making his way around from the other side of the bed. "King Thranduil, everyone," he added, nodding to Thranduil and Gimli, who'd actually entered the room, and the other's who were hovering around the doorway.

"How's Legolas?" demanded Aragorn tightly, speaking to the twins but not looking away from his husband's form. "He looks – how is he?"

"Estel, sit down," instructed Elrohir as he gestured to a chair next to the bed.

"Answer me –"

"Please do as I say!" Elrohir covered his eyes with one of his hands and then dragged it wearily down his face. He drew in a deep, calming breath and continued: "We'll tell you everything, Estel; we don't want to hide anything from you. But you're holding a precious burden that three of us in this room just took great pains to make sure entered this world safely and I for one would feel better if you sat down if you're going to hold him while we discuss Legolas with you."

This couldn't be good. Aragorn felt as if he couldn't breathe as he silently made his way over to the chair and sat. "All right," he said evenly with an underlying hysteria. "I'm sitting down. I'm also nearly insane and extremely scared, and have been so since I first saw that blood on Legolas' hand. Does anyone now feel sufficiently motivated to tell me exactly what condition the love of my life is in?"

Elrohir sat down on the edge of the bed opposite him. "We didn't mean to worry you so much," he said, "but we also couldn't keep sending messages every time his condition changed. Here's the whole truth: he lost a lot of blood and it was difficult to stem it after it had flowed for so long, but we managed to do just that. You and the healers should be commended, Estel; blackberry usually isn't used when blood loss is that bad, but had it not been applied I fear that he would have been lost long before the birth was over. As of right now we've done all that we can do – he still lives but it is up to him to find his way back to us."

Aragorn meant to say 'thank you' – he really did – but a question that had been plaguing him for weeks came out instead: "Where were you two?"

"We're so sorry," apologized Elladan profusely as he took his place at his twin's side. "With the amount of time it takes to travel between Minas Tirith and Rivendell we didn't have a lot of time to actually do the work that we needed to do. We had to choose between returning sooner and researching more thoroughly. We made the assumption that since Legolas is an elf and elves have longer gestation periods than Men that he would deliver late if he didn't deliver on time and decided to delay our departure for the sake of accumulating more research. It was our fault that we didn't prepare for all possibilities, but this was so new to everyone; we didn't realize what risks were involved until it was almost too late."

"I see," mumbled Aragorn. His shoulders sagged a little. "I probably would have made the same assumptions; they weren't at all unreasonable. By the Valar, why did this happen? Why did Legolas deliver so early?"

"There could be several factors, but I would guess that stress was the mitigating one," replied Elrohir thoughtfully. "Pregnancy is stressful under the best of circumstances. Finding out that you're several months along after believing that becoming pregnant wasn't even a possibility is particularly so, even though that was a happy kind of stress in this case. Plus he had been experiencing tremendous guilt and anguish about not being able to bear children and he didn't take care of himself as a pregnant male elf should during the first months. Being poisoned on top of all of that…the body can only handle so much."

Having marital problems with a perpetually preoccupied husband probably hadn't helped either. Aragorn mournfully berated himself –for all that he'd done, he might as well have just poisoned Legolas himself and saved everyone a step. "Could everyone leave?" he asked, sounding dazed. "We – just need to spend some time together right now."

The twins exchanged an apprehensive glance. "Estel –"

"_Go."_

Aragorn bowed his head and shut his eyes, listening as several sets of feel shuffled out of the room and the door shut quietly behind them. Not everyone had exited, however; and the Man felt an irrational burst of fear when he realized who had boldly decided to linger on after he'd ordered them all to leave. "I asked if everyone could give us some time alone," he reiterated shakily. Why wasn't he gone yet? Aragorn could guess: if anyone was going to try to hold the baby, this interloper was.

"Do you wish to deny me the chance to spend this time with my son?" asked Thranduil softly, undaunted by Aragorn's rejection. He grabbed another chair and pulled it next to his son-in-law's, settling into it when it was arranged where he wanted it. "I need to be here for him just as much as you do, Aragorn."

Aragorn instinctively drew the child closer to him but Thranduil never made any movement to snatch him. "I will not take your baby away from you," the elf promised though it broke his heart a little to do so. "I understand why you cannot let me do that."

The Man seriously doubted that. "How could you understand that?"

"Legolas' mother left for the harbors not two days after Legolas was born," Thranduil told him. The stomach-wrenching emotions of those days felt like they were bleeding anew after so many years, but it was important for Aragorn to know about them and not feel so alone. "She placed him in my arms and departed; and I have not seen her since. I could not bear to let anyone else to hold him for a long time after that – it did not seem right."

Indeed the Man felt relieved that he wasn't so insane to feel that way. "If he – if he passes – I will never be able to let the baby out of my sight then. So many people will be trying to hold him and take care of him and I can't share that job with anyone who isn't Legolas."

"I expressed a rather similar sentiment to your father when he came to visit afterwards," recalled Thranduil with a sad bemusement. "Elrond was very concerned; he feared that I was breaking and instructed me to employ a nanny, but I was adamant in my refusal and managed to raise Legolas without one. It was not easy, though."

"I wish that Ada was here right now," blurted out Aragorn. His cheeks burned as soon as the words left his mouth – what a childish thing to say when he needed to be a responsible adult!

Thranduil didn't look at him disapprovingly or even strangely. "Yes, I often wished for mine as well," he confided. "There were many long nights and dark days when all I wanted to do was turn to my adar and tell him everything that I was feeling that I could not face so that he could tell me that I would get through it. He was a source of wisdom, love, and strength that no one can ever replace in my life."

"Yes – yes, exactly," said Aragorn, his voice starting to tremble uncontrollably. He forced himself to relax as much as he could. "I can't do this without Ada if I have to raise him without Legolas. Elbereth, this baby would be better off if I died too if Legolasgoes – he deserves a full life with rational parents rather than just one father who can't stand the idea of ever putting him down."

"That is not true," said Thranduil wisely. The elf reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from Aragorn's face. "You are distraught and frightened now and that is normal. But this child will help you grow stronger than you ever imagined was possible and through that strength you will find that one day you will be able to put him down when you need to. You will put him down so that he can learn to stand on his own two feet. You will love him, teach him, guide him, and when the time comes, let him go…"

"Like you did." It was a funny feeling and not one that made him feel better, but Aragorn had never comprehended before just what he'd been asking of Thranduil when he'd fallen in love with Legolas. One day someone just like the Man might come along and Aragorn would have to deal with releasing his child to a person who couldn't possibly love him as much as his father did. Of course, he had no doubt that his love for Legolas could compare with Thranduil's but what assurances had he ever offered the elf to let him know that? "I'm so sorry, Thranduil; it must have been terrible –"

"Yes and no," Thranduil cut him off before he could sink further into depression. "I would have been happy if Legolas had decided to remain with me forever but he would not have been. It is an entirely different pain to see your child discontented and knowing that somehow you are the cause of it; a father endures much to make sure that his children are happy, Aragorn, and gladly so."

"I can't bear this…"

"Yes you can." No one could argue with the conviction in Thranduil's voice. "We are not as different as I thought we were – in fact, it seems that we are quite similar; if I could get through this so can you. You must, for your son's sake." He fell silent for a beat. "I hold true to my vow that I will not take him, but may I be allowed to see him more clearly?"

Nodding slightly, Aragorn shifted the baby and brushed aside any bits of the blanket that would obstruct Thranduil's view. "He is a miracle," gasped Thranduil, overwhelmed to the point of tears at his first real sight of his grandson. "He is certainly my Little Greenleaf's son, is he not? This is a very special child, Aragorn; not only to us but also to the future of your race. He is the last child born to an elf in Middle-earth." He smiled and tenderly stroked the infant's cheek. "And to two parents with elvish blood. Through his line the blood of the eldar race will flow to ensuing generations so that its beauty and splendor may not be wholly forgotten. Welcome, most beautiful eldarion."

"Eldarion?" repeated Aragorn ponderously, studying his son's face as the baby stared at his grandfather. "Son of the eldar race. He needs a grand and commanding name; one that honors his elvish heritage but isn't out of place in the world of Men. Something – special. Eldarion sounds pretty perfect to me."

"It is most fitting," agreed Thranduil through his tears. "Eldarion…"

As good as it felt to finally have a name for his son, Aragorn suddenly hesitated. "Not quite yet," he said. "Legolas should have a say in this matter. We can't call the baby any one name until we know for sure…"

"Until he wakes," supplied Thranduil resolutely. "We must have hope. My Little Greenleaf has never surrendered a fight willingly and permanently before and he has more incentive than ever not to start now. We only have to wait."

"Until the end of my life, if necessary," said Aragorn, though he knew that he couldn't make his son wait if Legolas continued to linger on like this for months…years. Thranduil put a comforting arm around his shoulder and the Man marveled to find that it didn't feel unusual. "We are here for you, Legolas; please come back to us."

To be continued…

_A/N: This story now has over 700 reviews! Thank you all so much!_

_Just a little note about newborn babies: for those of you who haven't seen a baby so soon after he or she has been born, newborns look **odd**. Not that they aren't adorable, especially to those who love them so much; when I saw my niece a few hours after she was born she had a conehead and her facial features were kind of flattened and a little squished - I thought she was perfect. All of that corrects itself as the baby recovers from the birth._


	36. In between

_A/N: Ideally, this whole chapter would have been italicized but it made my eyes cross to have it that way and I won't inflict it on all of you._

'_This had to be the most beautiful forest that anyone had ever seen,'_ thought the blonde elf as he stared in awe at the trees that seemed to be older than time itself. He walked under the branches, enjoying the feel of the lush carpet of grass beneath his feet, and lifted his face to take it all in. The smell of nature in its purest essence – floral scents, rain, soil, and theenchanting aroma of healthy bark – rushed to him in a perfect wind that was neither too harsh nor too soft. Bright sunlight seeped in from above, though he could not see the source of it through the leafy branches. It illuminated everything so that he could see where he was going, what was around him, and so that the shadows were cool and inviting rather than ominous and dank; but no so much to make the forest seem open and exposed. Yes, the forest was perfect in every way that the elf could think of and he felt safe and content there. In this kind of place it didn't matter that he couldn't remember anything about his life, even his own name.

No; that wasn't right. The prospect of wandering aimlessly through that marvelous forest forever didn't elicit any joy in him; in fact, the elf felt a strange knot form in his stomach at the thought. There was a reason why he was here and any bliss that he found in being there would be short-lived if he chose not to address that. His hands grew cold suddenly as the phrase 'short-lived' came into his mind, as if that applied to much more than his current circumstances. This was odd, for even if he didn't remember the details of his life he knew that he was an elf and members of that race were anything but short-lived. The idea of having an eternity to explore those woods hadn't always been an impossibility for him, he realized, but now it was.

'_I have forfeited my immortality,'_ he thought with a high level of detachment that usually wouldn't be combined with what many of the eldar race would consider to be a dark realization. Perhaps it had something to do with the life that he couldn't remember – maybe he had already reconciled himself to that concept.

But that just led him to more questions, and the frustration of it all was breaking the contentment that being in the forest brought. He couldn't continue on like this – there had to be some way to figure out who he was, why he'd ended up there, and where he was supposed to be. _'Supposed to be?'_ he asked himself. He was an elf and all elves loved nature above all other things – where else did he belong besides in within an image of its perfection?

The wind blew again; this time it was chilly and foreboding. _An **image** of its perfection_ – the pit in the elf's stomach grew as he became aware of the unsettling reality that somehow the forest he was in wasn't real. The trees had been remarkably silent until that moment, something unheard of in an old forest that should have been so full of memory, but now everything – trees, the air, the grass, everything – were speaking to him. Not words of comfort either; the world around him was shrinking fast. The elf shivered as he understood what it meant: this forest would only provide him a temporary shelter while he decided whether or not to try to remember. It would not tolerate his presence for long, especially if he chose to remain in ignorance. Sooner rather than later he would have to leave even though he wasn't sure where he would end up going.

'_Maybe I was sent here to wait until my destination was decided,'_ mused the elf. _'Maybe I was sent here to remember.'_ Why was it so difficult to hold on to a coherent thought? He struggled to focus on what the forest wanted him to do. _'Or maybe,'_ he thought with more conviction, _'some power is waiting to see if I decide to remember before it decides where I'm going.'_

Well, he didn't like the idea of having absolutely no say in what place he was going to end up in; and if remembering was the key to having some control over that he was just going to have to remember. Sliding his back down the trunk of a tree and sitting on the soft grass beneath it the blonde elf tried to sort out his predicament. Was it really true that he didn't remember _anything_ except possibly that he wasn't immortal? He searched through his unsettlingly hazy memory, grasping desperately at the tendrils of thoughts that were slipping away in the hopes that he could hold on to enough of them to piece together a proper recollection. Try as he might, the memory of his life remained just out of reach: the faces that he couldn't quite see, voices that were familiar but not recognizable, thoughts of the past, feelings…

Wait – a powerful feeling came to the forefront of his mind, something involving…a child? Yes, yes, he could remember feeling concerned that a child was being hurt, or dying, and that it was somehow his fault. But he wasn't capable of doing that, was he? _'Eru wouldn't give me the chance to remember and choose if I was,'_ he scolded himself. Ai Elbereth, it was going to be hard enough to remember without being afraid of what was lurking in the dark corners of his mind! _'And this forest; this forest wouldn't have welcomed me back if I were that evil!'_

Welcomed him back? The forest came alive for a moment as that thought just slipped out, as if it had heard him and approved. The elf was disquieted – he suddenly knew without a doubt that this wasn't his first time in those woods. Of course, he couldn't explain why he was so sure of this; one didn't just visit forests that didn't really exist on a whim, so whatever had happened to bring him there must have happened before – though perhaps not on such a serious level. Shaking his head, the elf tried to clear out those thoughts. _'This is ridiculous,' _he decided. _'I'm only confusing myself with all of this nonsense! How can I recall my comings and goings in this beautiful, disconcerting, and probably imaginary forest when I can't even remember my own name?'_

Apparently either annoyed with his ineptitude or else growing more sympathetic to his plight – he suspected that it was a little bit of both – the wind blew a little bit harder than before and the tree that he was leaning up against gladly yielded a few of its leaves to the gust. The blonde elf stretched out his hand and one such leaf glided gracefully into it. He examined it closely, grateful for the gift, and smiled for it was lovely in shape and color – it was the perfect shade of green. _'What a wonderful green leaf,'_ he decided.

He realized in the next instance that something about that phrase sounded very familiar. It was significant – he knew it because he was having the exact same feeling then that he'd had when he'd thought of being short-lived and about the child. "Green leaf," he said aloud, but that didn't sound quite right. He was momentarily discouraged but knew that he couldn't give up now.

"Green-leaf," he tried again, speeding up his pacing in his excitement and slurring the two words together. "Green-leaf, green-leaf, greenleaf –"

There! Greenleaf meant something to him, but he still couldn't quite recall what. Maybe if he tried saying it in a different language, a language that felt comfortable and familiar in the way it flowed off his tongue but he felt that he hadn't been using a lot as of late. "Greenleaf – legolas. Legolas – greenleaf," he chanted. "Legolas – Greenleaf. Legolas Greenleaf!"

His eyes brightened and he let out a triumphant laugh. "My name is Legolas Greenleaf!" he announced to no one in particular. All right, that was a start; his name was Legolas and he was deeply concerned about the well being of a child. Still, that wasn't a lot to go on and after a minute or two of trying to figure out what he could do with that information he was feeling downcast again. There just wasn't enough information yet – he needed another clue.

At a loss for anything else to do Legolas turned his attention back to the helpful leaf in his palm that had given him back his name. It was a picturesque piece of foliage to be sure, even though it seemed to be shrinking the more he examined it closely; its diminished size did not take away from its beauty. "This is a pretty little green leaf," he declared.

For the second time in a few minutes his choice of words triggered more memories. "Little Greenleaf!" cried Legolas. "I am someone's Little Greenleaf!" But whose? A wise, handsome, loving, and ageless face of an elf floated to the surface in his mind and he grabbed hold before it had the chance to vanish. "I am my ada's Little Greenleaf. He's been calling me that since – since I was a…_child_."

The forest gave way all of the sudden and Legolas was only strangely only somewhat startled that he was no longer sitting under the tree anymore. However odd it was that instead he was now sitting on a bed in a darkened chamber was nothing compared to the fact that he was also a child when a second ago he most definitely was not. His consciousness was divided in two – one part of him remained that adult, observing what he was going through as if he were watching someone else from an extremely intimate vantage point while the other was the child, processing his circumstances and the emotions that came along with it as if it was all happening for the first time. Both halves knew where he was: in his bedchamber in his father's cavern palace in Mirkwood.

Legolas shivered a looked around. He'd been tucked in a couple of hours ago and should have been asleep already, but he found he couldn't drift off. He hated being inside for too long where he couldn't feel the light of the sun, moon, and stars on his face. Why did his father always insist that he sleep indoors at night! He never understood (_'Because he protected you from knowing the darkness that always surrounded the realm for a long time,' _the detached observer noted) but he was a good boy for the most part and he obeyed. That didn't mean that he liked it – how could the cold stone be safer than the trees that nurtured and comforted him? He couldn't imagine that the terrible things that would supposedly get him if he remained outside wouldn't be able to get in his chamber as well (_'Foolish child; you know nothing of danger and fear_).

Still, he was a princeling as well as a big boy and mature princelings like him had to be brave at all times. He couldn't quake with fear just because he was certain that an orc was lurking in his closet and a spider was hiding under his bed. "I'm not afraid of you," he told them defiantly but that wasn't true. They knew it too because he could hear the orc laughing at him, repeating the same stories that he'd overheard some of the warriors talking about – that orcs used to be elves like him – and the spider hissed nastily, threatening to sting him if he dared to sleep.

Legolas had been enduring the constant terror since his ada left and he couldn't stand it any longer! Thankfully, his ada's bedchamber wasn't too far away and he knew that once he reached it he would be safe. After all, Ada was the bravest, noblest, and strongest elf that had ever lived – no orc or spider would dare try to mess with him. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Legolas rose to his feet, backing up and running from one end of his bed to the other and leaping.

He exhaled in relief when he landed next to the door just like he'd hoped he would. "Ha ha," he laughed at the orc and spider he'd managed to outwit, braver now that there was some distance between them. "No elfling for you tonight." Then he ran out of the room as quickly as he could and didn't slow down until he'd reached his father's bedchamber.

His father was also in bed but still awake when Legolas pushed the door open, but that was all right because he was an adult and a king and was allowed to do things like stay up late. The elfling meant to creep in quietly but he was too shocked to see the state that his brave ada was in to remain silent. "Ada," he said. The older elf looked up, startled, and hastily wiped his cheeks. "Why are you crying?"

"Come here, Legolas," beckoned Ada. Not wanting to cause his father any more pain he obeyed immediately, climbing into his lap and looking at what had wrung tears from him. Spread out before them on the bed was a sword, a blanket that had a wonderful smell that Legolas found to be soothing, and a sparkling green gem that was made to look like a leaf. It was with the last item that the elfling was most dazzled by – while he never could figure out why his father was so interested in sparkly stones, Legolas had to admit that this one was indeed beautiful.

"What brings you here tonight?" the older elf asked once Legolas had properly snuggled against him.

"There's an orc in my closet and a spider under my bed," reported Legolas, burying his face against his father's chest but keeping his head turned just enough so that he could still look at the mysterious items. "You won't let them get me, right?"

"Of course not," Ada assured him. "Do you think that they'll be in your bedchamber much longer?"

"Until the morning," said Legolas. "I'm going to have to stay with you tonight." He quickly changed the subject before his father could tell him otherwise. "What are these things?"

Ada picked up the sword first. "This belonged to your grandsire," he explained, letting the child examine the ornate hilt but pulling it out of range of his grasp before he could finger the shiny blade. "There was never a finer elf than him! He was the wisest, most truthful, most courageous, and best ruler that our realm could ask for."

"No, Ada," Legolas corrected him solemnly. "That's _you_."

The older elf chuckled and kissed the top of his head. "Thank you, my Little Greenleaf," he murmured. "I suppose that I feel the same way about my ada that you do about yours."

It was very confusing to think of his ada having an ada of his own, especially since he never had the chance to meet his grandsire – the great Oropher seemed more like a concept, a character of fables, than an actual person at times. Instead of dwelling on that, however, Legolas turned his attention to the worn blanket. All of Ada's bedding was crisp and new; something that looked so shabby was out-of-place, though – he ran his fingers across it – it was splendidly soft. "I like this blanket," he declared. "It cuddly and it smells nice."

"I'm not surprised that you think so," replied his father. He laid down the sword reverently and took up the blanket, wrapping it around them both. Legolas rubbed his nose against the fabric. "This is your mother's scent, ion nin. How I wish you had gotten the chance to know her before the sea called her!"

Ada bit his lower lip as if to hold back a cry. Pausing only to stroke Legolas' face, he then picked up the green gem. "She gave this to me one night not too long after we got married," he smiled at the memory. "She loved leaves more than anything – she even insisted that her crown be made of leaves instead of mithril – and wanted to give me something that was a combination of what she found most precious and what I believed to be most precious. Of course," he added, looking fondly down at the elfling in his arms as fresh tears fell, "that was the night that we created something that was much more precious than gems and leaves combined."

It frightened Legolas to see his father cry, but he was a brave princeling; instead of giving into his fears he decided to do something to make it stop. Stretching his body and neck, he kissed Ada's cheeks. "Go away bad thoughts," he recited what his father said to him when the situation was reversed. "Flee from me, scary nightmares. If you don't leave my ada alone right now I will love and kiss you into hope and pleasant dreams."

"Oh, Legolas; you are truly your mother's child," said Ada, sounding like he was choking. He hugged him closer and pressed the pretty green leaf gem into the elfling's hand. "I want you to have this."

"But this is made of everything that you and Nana love the most!" protested Legolas, not wanting to rob his father of something that he'd said himself was so precious.

"_You_ are what is made of everything your nana and I love the most," Ada corrected him gently. "Like you this is the essence of the best of both of us. Oh, how I miss her, and your grandsire too!"

Legolas wrapped his arms around his father's neck. "Thank you for my essence," he said, though he didn't understand what that word meant. "I'm sorry that you have to be so unhappy! Please don't cry anymore, Ada; I'll do anything to make you happy again."

"You are enough to make me happy for all of the life ages of Middle-earth," said Ada emotionally. "Promise me that you will not leave me too."

"I promise," swore Legolas without a thought.

That promise turned out to be rather easy to keep in the ensuing years. When he got a little older some messengers came from Rivendell – where his friends, the twins, lived – and though they must have seen Legolas at some earlier time, they'd made a fuss about how beautiful he was. All too soon Legolas found himself saddled with the unwanted title of "The Sun Star" (_'As if I was just as importantas the sun!'_) and made to sit on a stool while he was forced to listen to an endless stream of troubadours singing songs and reciting poems that were supposedly inspired by him. It was ludicrous, of course; all of those people had only heard about his physical attributes and made assumptions about what he was like – none of them really knew _him_. As the years wore on and the lyrics never changed from 'eyes as blue as the sea and hair woven of the rays of the sun' Legolas was certain that he would never be able to love one of them enough to leave his father.

But that wasn't so; Legolas shook his head once more, trying to clear the haze so that he could think. What had changed? Something had made him break his promise to his father; someone had managed to take enough of his heart that staying with Ada had become a less desirable future. Was that related to what was nagging at him? He knew that the answer was somehow 'yes.' He closed his eyes and forced himself forward through the years. There had been someone…a _child_…

Suddenly Legolas was no longer a child in his father's palace but an elf who was almost of age, staring into the face of a Mannish child in Rivendell. The little boy – Estel, his name was Estel – stared back, unabashed by his naked admiration for his family's guest. It should have bothered Legolas but it didn't; after countless years of enduring sly, coy glances, and people reverently averting their eyes so as not to appear too forward it was nice to come across someone who didn't want to play those games. For all of the times that his father asserted that he was his mother's child Legolas was his father's too; and when Estel said, "You're pretty," it was with an honest bluntness that any son of Thranduil could appreciate.

Estel became very dear to him during that visit. He was a constant shadow who was actually interested in seeing Legolas for the person that he was, watching him closely as he practiced archery, read, swum, and the like. It was nice to encounter someone who could see him as more than an untouchable beauty who sat quietly on a stool. Elrohir, Elladan, and even Elrond to some extent marveled at their guest's patience for the situation but in truth it never really required any of him. When Legolas left that place Estel even graced him with the only poem that had ever felt that was truly inspired by him and that he ever liked. As he rode away he remembered the marriage proposal that the child had made a few days prior and thought that if he ever did marry someone he hoped that it would be someone like Estel.

But Estel couldn't be the child that he was so worried about because Estel had grown up to become Aragorn. The scenery shifted once more and Legolas found himself back in Mirkwood. He was outside this time, though, and instead of being alone or in his father's company he was talking with Mithrandir. The old wizard was telling him tales concerning his recent adventures with the Dunedan rangers. "Do you remember Estel of Rivendell?" asked Mithrandir.

"Yes," replied Legolas, smiling warmly at the memory of the boy reciting the poem that he still read after each troubadour session to remind himself that he was really more than a pair of blue eyes and a pile of blonde hair.

"He's called Aragorn now," Mithrandir told him, "and though he's only just joined the rangers he's already one of their bravest."

"I have no doubt about that," laughed Legolas as he tried to imagine the child he hadn't seen in over ten years as a young man. "There was never a finer Man than Estel."

Mithrandir's eyes twinkled as if he were pleased to hear this and went on to tell more stories about Estel doing grand tasks that Legolas could only dream of but still lingered in his memory. He remembered how he thought that he would be happy to marry someone like Estel; if he had become half the person that the grey wanderer was describing the elf prince could easily imagine falling in love with him.

Several months later Aragorn came to Mirkwood with some rangers at Mithrandir's behest – or contrivance, as Legolas later came to understand – and the elf was able to see through the years, wariness and grime of travel, and hair covering his face to see both the child that he was fond of and a young Man that he found very attractive. This, fueled by Mithrandir's stories, Aragorn's corroborating but deliberately humble tales, and learning of the ranger's unwavering loyal devotion, drove Legolas to impulsively declare to love him back (_Fool; you know nothing of love yet'_). Defying his father, he gave him the greenleaf gem that was his essence, accepted a silver ring that hung on a chain thatonly left his neck when he slept, and waited through 66 years of separation and turmoil to become his husband…

The memory was so close to the surface! Legolas looked around and realized that he was back in that beautiful and disquieting imaginary forest. _'This is what I always imagined what Mirkwood would look like if the Shadow had left it alone,'_ he realized. But Mirkwood, no matter how idealized he made it, wasn't his home anymore and the answers he was looking for wouldn't be there. He found a path; luckily for him it took him out of the woods and into a city of stone that made him feel so content that he knew it was where he belonged.

'_This is Minas Tirith,'_ he thought as the looked up toward the White Tower. _'This is my home, the one that Aragorn and I made together.'_ Maybe the child he was worried about was lost in there, somewhere in the shadows that certainly didn't belong there. He should search there –

Suddenly a new awareness came to Legolas and he knew without a doubt that he'd been in this situation before, even if he hadn't been standing in that exact place. The shadows loomed ahead but now he wasn't so sure that he would find the child there and he was afraid that if he went there he would never be able to leave them again. Oh, who was this child and where was he?

The answer finally came on the wind, for it blew then and Legolas heard his own voice shouting: "There he is!" from behind him.

Sure enough, when he turned around he saw the back of a child running away from him and the shadows and into a light. Legolas observed his long brown hair and pointy ears – in the home that he and his husband had made together – because the child was also something that he and Aragorn had made together! The elf's soul lifted and he knew he was right: Aragornion, Elessarion, Legolasion, edainion, eldarion – this boy was all of these things as well as his father's miracle.

Legolas ran forward after him, unafraid of where the light was going to take him. No matter what happened he was sure that he would be all right as long as he could be with his son. With each passing step, however, he felt more and more pain; as if his body had just going through a trying ordeal and now had to deal with the soreness, biting sting, and fatigue that came in its aftermath.

He might have collapsed right there before reaching his destination but now he was close enough to the light that he could hear three voices that were coming from it: his father's, Aragorn's and the crying of his child. There were three generations of the people that he loved most and if he could endure this for anyone it would be for the three of them. Legolas forced his body to more forward just one…two…three…four…five more steps and the light surrounded him.

To be concluded...

_A/N: For those of you who haven't read them yet, the story of Legolas' visit to Rivendell when Aragorn and Aragorn's visit to Mirkwood as a ranger are in chapters 2-7 ofthe prequel to this story, called "What is Meant to Be" - **except** for the story of Estel's marriage proposal. That is recounted in a companion piece called "What Dreams Can Tell Us"._


	37. Many reunions

_A/N: I don't know how tall hobbit children are or if Tolkien ever said anything on the matter, but here's what I'm guessing from watching the movies: fully grown hobbits are less than 4 feet tall (for argument's sake, I'll put the average height at 3'6", or 42 inches). Hobbit children half the size of their adult counterparts would be 21 inches, or 1'9". Newborn humans, I believe, are usually 15-20 inches (my niece, who was born as early as Legolas and Aragorn's son was 19 inches). These are the calculations I'm basing a very small (like 4 or so lines) part of the chapter on; the most important thing to come away with here is that I did math. _:)

The light was beyond glorious – it was almost painful to behold in all of its brightness. Thankfully he wasn't surrounded by it anymore, though it seemed to be close by still in his line of vision. But why was this? Legolas struggled to regain his bearings. He was no longer following his son along the smooth stone path but lying down on a soft mattress. His head was rested on a pillow and a soft blanket was pulled up to his chest. Most notably the quiet of that unreal world had fallen away; he could hear footsteps going to and fro far off, people – mostly, from what he could tell, healing women, discussing a miraculous birth, and, close at hand, two voices having an animated discussion over the sound of an infant crying.

'_So my son led me back to the Houses of Healing,'_ thought Legolas.

Strange; he could remember being brought there by Aragorn when he discovered the blood but he couldn't recall at what point he'd left it. It didn't matter anyway, for now he knew both the source of the light and just who were talking or crying at his bedside. Legolas was silently grateful that his husband was a Man of his word; weeks earlier he'd promised the then-pregnant elf that he'd see to it that the bed in his bedchamber in the Houses was moved so that the direct sunlight wouldn't be cast upon it in the morning. Sure enough, when Legolas cracked his eyes open he found that he wasn't blinded by the light; instead of shining in his eyes it was fell to the side of the bed, illuminating the three people there.

It was perhaps the oddest and most wonderful sight that Legolas had ever witnessed. Two chairs had been pulled together, occupied by Aragorn and Thranduil. The fact that they were sitting so close without fidgeting and clenching their fists was a marvel in itself; there was none of that stiff body language from either of them that indicated that Aragorn had babbled something foolish or that his father had said something thoughtless. What was more, they actually seemed comfortable and even comforted by each other's presences. Aragorn was cradling something wrapped in luscious blankets – Legolas' heart leapt as he realized just _who_ that was – and Thranduil was leaning over with one hand on the bundle.

Both adults' attentions were so focused on trying to find a way to soothe the infant's cries that they didn't notice Legolas stirring. "He's not wet," Aragorn was saying. "I checked him! Besides, judging from what happened last time, I don't think that it would be a mystery to me if he had."

"I still cannot believe that you managed to change your shirt without putting the baby down once," noted Thranduil. "Such coordination! It is nice to see that the elvish blood is not completely diluted in your line. I do not believe that he is hungry either; he just had a bottle not a half hour ago!"

"Well, he can't want attention," said Aragorn. He bent down to kiss the baby and frowned a little when the crying didn't stop. "He's been getting plenty of that."

Legolas listened to all of this for a second with conflicting emotions. On the one hand, it was a joy to hear his father and husband interacting without a lot of tense, barely-there toleration and he'd never heard anything as beautiful as his son's voice. His cries meant that he was indeed alive and, from what he could tell by their volume, healthy and strong. All of the ignorant lack of care in the early months of his pregnancy, the period of being underweight, the poisoning and its stressful aftermath, and the dangerously early birth – the baby had endured all of that and still survived and thrived. In years to come the elf would joke that no one should have expected less from a child created by two people as stubborn as himself and Aragorn; but at the moment all of those episodes were fresh in his mind and Legolas could fully appreciate the miracle that was his son's health.

On the other hand, it broke the prince's heart to hear the baby carry on like that. He never wanted his son to have any cause to cry – an unrealistic goal to be sure, but also an understandable one considering the last few months' trials and Legolas' current fuzzy mental state. He longed to take the baby into his arms and love away all of his tears, just like his father used to do for him.

"Is he unhappy?" mumbled Legolas a little too weakly for his taste. It didn't sound like he possessed the strength to pick up a young leaf, let a newborn baby with that voice. "Is that why he's crying?"

Aragorn was so startled to hear his husband's voice that he almost dropped the infant. Thankfully Thranduil, being an elf and gifted with quick reflexes, shot both of his hands underneath the boy and supported him. "Be careful," he admonished while sending a quiet prayer of thanks to Eru and Elbereth. "Children are stronger than they look but it is still not a good idea to test their limits before their time."

Aragorn nodded, making sure to tighten his grasp, but his eyes were on the figure in the bed rather than the one in his arms. "Legolas?" he asked in a choked voice, fearful that some sweet madness had befallen him to make him believe that his love was speaking.

"I don't want my son to cry," responded Legolas, still a little weak but getting stronger. "If he's not wet or hungry, then what is it? Are you two making him stay awake when he doesn't want to be?"

The Man opened his mouth but no words came out; his overwhelming relief, he found, was making it impossible for him to speak. Legolas was awake – those beautiful blue eyes that their son had inherited were open and focused on his family; his voice, while a bit raspy, gave the impression that he was alert; and he didn't appear to be muddled or confused beyond what was normal after all he'd been through. It was more than what was to be expected so soon after such a difficult birth; a true blessing, as if the king didn't already have an embarrassment of those. Aragorn had to close his mouth to keep from sobbing but couldn't stop a few tears from escaping from the corners of his eyes.

Observing his son-in-law's extreme emotional state, Thranduil took the liberty of answering. "You son appears to take after you when it comes to his sleeping habits," he reported wryly, the years of battling with his son to put him to bed burned forever in his memory. "It is as if he is afraid that that something amazing will happen the instant he closes his eyes and so refuses to do so. That is not the reason for his malcontent, though; I believe that he just wants to be with his birthing ada and have a rest from listening to Aragorn and I talk. He has been waiting for you, my Little Greenleaf," he added as his voice cracked. "We all have."

"Not as long as I've been waiting for him," said Legolas, sounding almost desperate. "I need to see him; after everything…I have to hold him and see for myself that he's all right. Please bring him to me."

Still stupefied at the realization that his husband was most likely going to make a full recovery, Aragorn didn't budge. "Aragorn?" Thranduil prompted gently.

The Man started at the elven king's voice; how strong and elated it sounded, reminding him of his own father's soothing tone. Shaking himself out of his emotions-induced haze, he readied the baby boy in his arms and slowly rose to his feet. After checking to make sure that the jostling hadn't done anything to his son, he slowly made his way to Legolas' bed. Each step that Aragorn took was equally influenced by reverence and fear, as if he thought that the floor was a power unto itself and might choose to give away at any second if he didn't give it the respect it required.

Legolas somehow managed to wait patiently, though he felt like he was going to explode with anticipation by the time his husband made it over to the bed. Once Aragorn had seated himself carefully on the edge of the mattress the elf attempted to sit up and reach for the child. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to complete even the first part of that task. "Oof," he exhaled when his struggles ended with him falling back down.

"Are you all right? Are you hurt? You'd tell me if you were hurt, right?" asked Aragorn urgently. He knew how much it meant to Legolas to be able to hold the baby now – so much so that he was certain that his husband would ignore countless swords in his side just for the chance to cradle him for a second – and worried about what strain that would have on the elf's recovery. What if he overexerted himself and suffered a relapse? It would be heartbreaking to be tormented with this brief period of awakening only to lose him permanently a little while later. "Perhaps you should hold him later. It might be better if you rested while I fetched my brothers."

"Aragorn," Legolas tried not to moan. It was embarrassing enough that he had to acknowledge that his strength was drained for the time being – being treated as if holding his son would kill him was downright unbearable. "I've been resting for far too long and I promise to do a little more of it afterwards; but I don't think I'll be able to without first seeing our child. I'll be all right – you just need to help me."

Hearing Legolas ask for his assistance broke down Aragorn's defenses. He understood how difficult it was for the proud prince to request it and he was more than willing to meet him halfway. "I can do that," he vowed softly.

That was easier said than done, however; helping Legolas to sit up would require two arms and Aragorn, his being full, currently had none to offer. "Thranduil," he called over to his father-in-law.

"I am right here," replied Thranduil, standing behind him. He came around so that both Aragorn and Legolas could see him. "Give me your hands, Legolas."

"Wait." Aragorn held up his hand. "I think – I think that someone should sit behind you, my love, to provide a little extra support while you hold him – he's gets heavy rather quickly."

The elf instinctively started to protest but fell silent when he saw a tuft of brown hair surrounding a pointed ear tip at a place where the blanket had fallen away. His stubborn pride meant absolutely nothing if he ended up hurting that precious child because of it. "That might not be a terrible idea," he conceded. "I wouldn't be _insulted_ per say to accept the extra help – just this once."

"And I would really like the person helping you to be me," stated Aragorn. "I told you once that we would hold our son together after he was born and I'd like the chance to keep that promise. Thranduil, would you mind taking the baby for a second while the two of us get situated?"

It was a credit to all of his royal training that the older elf didn't start to cry right then and there. "It would be my pleasure," he declared, putting his arms out immediately before the Man had the chance to think about what he was asking and change his mind. Unshed tears caused the baby's face to blur as he held his grandson for the first time.

"Hello little one," whispered the elven king, not trusting his voice to keep steady if he spoke any louder. "There is no need to cry anymore; your birthing ada is almost ready for you and I know that you are ready for him."

It was peculiar – just a few minutes earlier Aragorn would have been devastated and enraged to see someone else holding the baby before Legolas had gotten the chance to. Now as he carefully helped his husband sit up, taking his place behind him so that he could provide as much support as the elf needed, it didn't seem all that important. Maybe the reason why he could feel at peace with the situation while Thranduil struggled with it for so long after Legolas' birth was that Aragorn had the assurance that his love would be able to hold him at some point.

A melancholy shadow passed over the king as he thought about what his father-in-law had gone through but he determinedly shook it off. What had passed had passed and there were much more important things to focus on – like Legolas and their son. "We're ready," he informed Thranduil once his husband was securely settled against him.

"Oh," breathed Legolas in awe as his father tenderly placed the infant in his arms. Aragorn's arms slid under his, half embracing him as the elf gazed at their son. "Look at you – you're just as – no, I never could – could have imagined –"

"My love?" murmured Aragorn, kissing one of the tears that fell from his husband's temple while the rest mingled with the ones that were coming from his own eyes.

"I thought I knew," said Legolas tearfully. "I thought I understood. I'd never felt for anyone the way I felt for this child when he was inside of me and I thought that was a father's love. But that was _nothing_ compared to this. There are no words – am I making any sense?"

"Perfect sense," Aragorn assured him. Thranduil only smiled, swallowing hard and trying to wipe the moisture from his cheeks.

"He's perfect," Legolas continued. "There has never been anything as absolutely perfect as he is. I love you, ion nin; I love you so much that I'm afraid that my heart will burst."

The baby looked up at his birthing ada as if he was entranced. Legolas knew rationally that his senses were probably just overloaded as he continued to soak in all of the brand-new things around him; but he preferred to think that his son had actually understood his declaration of love and what it meant. The elf would even settle for him thinking, _'So _that's _what I've been kicking looks like from the outside!'_ as long as he had an understanding of who his birthing ada was.

There was still a lot of wetness on the child's cheeks when Legolas came out of his amazed haze; fortunately, he knew just what to do to make it go away and not come back for awhile. "Go away, bad thoughts," recited the new father in a playfully scolding tone as he leaned over and kissed both damp cheeks. "Flee from me, scary nightmares. If you don't leave my" – he traced a finger over a particularly soft brunette strand of hair and smiled contentedly – "my Little Acorn alone right now I will love and kiss you into hope and pleasant dreams."

Aragorn had never heard such a sweet statement before, especially not from his usually hard-headed husband – perhaps fatherhood was mellowing him out at bit. He looked up over at Thranduil, expecting to see him wearing a bemused smile, and was shocked to find him weeping openly. "I remember that," said the elven king hoarsely.

"I do too, most fondly," replied Legolas, equally emotional. "It always worked when my ada did it to me and I can only hope that I will be as good a father as him with my son."

"My sweet, precious, most perfect Little Greenleaf," Thranduil breathed, rushing to sit down next to him. He seized his son's face with both hands and drew him forward to kiss his brow and nose. "You will more than surpass your father in that respect. I've never been prouder of you."

"Thank you," was Legolas' strangled reply. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. "Look at the three of us sobbing away while trying to discourage him from doing the same thing! The hypocrisy of it all! What kind of role models are we for – ai Elbereth, we haven't even come up with a name for him yet, have we?"

The noise of a throat being cleared sounded near Legolas' ear. "We – ah – we have a contender for that," sad Aragorn awkwardly. Would his husband be upset or angry that he and Thranduil had come up with a name – however unintentionally – at a time when he couldn't participate in the process? Aragorn wasn't sure how he would react if he were in Legolas' place. "You see, your father and I got to talking while we were waiting for you to wake up. During this he mentioned that our son is the last child born to an elf in Middle-earth and to two parents with elvish blood –"

"So far," interrupted Legolas.

"Yes," agreed Aragorn, though he was so nervous about his own news that he only half-listened to what the elf had just said that failed at the moment to comprehend just what he meant by it. "Anyway, Thranduil described him as 'eldarion.' That has a nice ring to it, don't you think? It sounds enough like 'Elessar' to satisfy the advisors' council and nobility and still pays homage to our son's elvish heritage. I really think it's the most appropriate name we could think of."

Legolas studied the baby carefully as he weighed this possibility. The child was of Mannish origin; there was no mistaking that thanks to the strong resemblance he bore to his father. Yet there were those brilliant eyes, too intense and bright to be totally of the world of Men, and unmistakable elven ears. Thinking back to that strange place he'd just left where his life flashed before his eyes, the elf recalled the last two phrases he'd used to describe the older version of his son: edainion and eldarion. Both would be proper names for him, but…

This child, Legolas keenly understood (as did his father and husband), would grow up completely in the world of Men; the only tastes of the elvish world would from a hastily established and quickly (as the elves saw it) fading settlement in Ithilien and the presence and memories of him, Thranduil, the twins, and Aragorn to some extent. Be that as it may, the boy would never look like he totally belonged to the dominion that he was destined to rule and it would be important to teach him to be proud of that distinctive elvish lineage should some ignorant peer torment him about it. And he had reason to be proud, too; for though this infant he and Aragorn would keep the promise that they made to Mithrandir before entering Minas Tirith after the war: to make sure that the splendor of the past ages would not be wholly forgotten.

"His name is Eldarion," he agreed. "Prince Eldarion of Gondor and of the line of Mirkwood – a prince of both elves and Men. One day you will learn why that distinction is so special, ion nin – I promise that I will tell you why that is every single day."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

"It _does_ look flatter than yesterday," observed Pippin with a hint of relief in his tone. He ran a hand over Eldarion's skull as if to make sure that this impression wasn't just the result of an illusion. "You should have seen it, Legolas! His head as just as pointy as his ears right after he was born – he would have needed lots of hats if it had stayed that way."

Legolas chuckled good-naturedly while successfully disguising the twinge of sadness that he felt over not seeing the newborn's temporarily misshapen head from almost everyone in the room. Now was not the time for regrets and the elf wished to entertain none – there were already enough people who required his attention. Eldarion was still in his arms and Aragorn still behind him; and now they were joined on the bed by Sam, Rosie, Merry, and Pippin, who were sitting opposite them, and by little Elanor seated on one side and Eowyn and Faramir's daughter Findowyn on the other. The latter girl's parents were hovering close by their child in case of emergency or inappropriate behavior while Thranduil and Gimli stood close behind the hobbit lass. Elladan and Elrohir completed the circle, standing beside the bed a little before the hobbits.

It was a little crowded even in that larger bedchamber but Legolas wouldn't have it any other way. He was eager to show off his adorable son to the people he loved most and would be Eldarion's extended family. Moreover, after the scare they'd all just received over Legolas' dangerous birthing and Aragorn's near-emotional collapse it was good to gather together again. Being surrounded by all of those positive feelings only served to speed along the healing process.

"I thought he was going to be smaller," said Elanor with a bit of a pout, apparently the only person in the room who wasn't entirely happy. "Frodo was little enough for me to hold when he was born. How can I do that with Eldarion if he's almost as big as I am?"

"Now you know that hobbit babies are smaller than the babies of the Big Folk," explained Sam patiently and not for the first time. "I'm sorry, Elanor, but sometimes we can't do what we want to do when we want to do it." He nodded down at his own son nestled in his arms and looked up again to wink at her. "You can always hold your brother if you want."

"But I've done that so many times," complained the little hobbit lass. "I was wanting to hold a _new_ baby."

"Well, _I'm_ big enough to hold him," boasted Findowyn. Faramir caught her eye and shot her a confused frown – she'd never expressed in interest in holding an infant before and judging by the atrocious state of every doll that had ever been given to her, she wouldn't be too gentle with one either. "Well, how else am I going to teach him how to hunt balrogs? Though he'll have to be the balrog victim until he gets older. I'm glad you had him, Legolas; Lady Freda was getting a little too worn out to play that part."

Eowyn placed a hand on her daughters shoulder, growing slightly pale as she pictured that sorry state of that particular unfortunate doll's head and the thought of Eldarion ending up in a similar condition. "We can discuss the holding part with Legolas and Aragorn later," she said emphatically. "But your dolls will have to do for victims and the finer points of killing a balrog will have to wait until he gets older."

"That's no fun," snorted Findowyn in disappointment. "I hope he hurries with that."

"With growing up?" Faramir asked, smiling sadly. "I have no doubt that he will."

"Much too soon," agreed Elrohir, completing the Man's thought. He craned his neck to peer at his nephew and smirked mischievously. "Are you sure that he's going to look like Estel when he gets older?"

Legolas' smile was serene but playful. "He looks like him right now, don't you think?" he asked, nodding. Aragorn just narrowed his eyes defensively.

"Such a shame," sighed Elladan. "Estel was so funny-looking as a child and sadly, now that I really look at him, I can see that his was one of those faces that never quite grew into his body."

Aragorn let loose an offended squawk as Merry chimed in: "Lucky for Eldarion that Legolas' blood is in the mix too. That should balance everything out."

"That's enough now!" Legolas, taking well to his new role as a father, scolded. "This child will be most fortunate to look like Aragorn; he happens to be the most handsome Man that ever existed," he added, making a show of giving his husband a kiss on the cheek.

"Don't worry, Legolas" comforted Gimli protectively. "I can assure you both that your little one is the most beautiful babe in all off Middle-earth and probably in Valinor too. Anyone who says otherwise will have to be taught about manners and good taste with my axe."

Their albeit nervous laughter at imagining this scenario was interrupted by a knock at the door. "Pardon me," said Ioreth, standing in the entryway, "but it's about time for Prince Eldarion's feeding. Do you want me to take him to the bottle or bring the bottle to him?"

"Bring it here, please," Legolas smiled at her. "Thank you, Ioreth."

"Well," said Merry as the healing woman bowed and left, "I guess it's about time we left you three to your own devices."

"You don't have to," Aragorn protested politely, although half-heartedly.

Sam waved his hand. "We've been taking up all of your time – I don't think it's ever been just the three of you since the baby was born. Besides," he added a bit more pointedly, "Mr. Merry's got something to show and talk to us about at Pelennor Fields, don't you, Mr. Merry?"

Eowyn smiled grimly as an ashen-faced Merry determinedly nodded. "May I join you?" she inquired. "After all, it was Merry and I out there before; it's only fitting that we go out there together again."

"That doesn't sound like suitable trip for children," noted Faramir. "Maybe baby Frodo would be fine, not understanding what's being said, but what about the girls?"

His wife only arched an eyebrow at him as the two of them, all of the hobbits, and Findowyn walked out of the door. "I have complete faith that you can keep them entertained all…day…long…"

Elrohir moved in front of Thranduil and Gimli to take Elanor's place, after which he bent down and kissed Eldarion's forehead. "Even if the three of you didn't need your privacy," he said, the weariness catching up to him now that the danger had passed, "the two of us need some food and rest."

"Food and rest?" murmured Elladan as he almost flopped down on the bed and nuzzled his nephew's hair. "You mean not on a horse? Oh the wonders of the city of Men! Are there baths here too, or would that be too close to paradise to be real?"

"Get some sleep," ordered Aragorn, laughing. "You're more insane than usual. And thank you, my brothers – for everything."

The twins said their goodbyes and left too, leaving only Thranduil and Gimli with the royal family. "I suppose we should depart as well," said Thranduil wistfully. "Gimli has offered to assist me in moving out of the citadel and now is as good a time as any to begin that task."

"Ada –"

"You are an adult, my Little Greenleaf," interrupted Thranduil with a warm firmness. "You and Aragorn will be fine without me. Besides, the longer I remain in your home the more difficult it will be for me to leave it."

"But still," hedged Legolas. Becoming a parent had given him a better understanding of his father than he had ever had before and he had been looking forward to strengthening their bond because of it. "I've enjoyed having you so close by these last months. The idea of you going all the way back to Ithilien…"

"He won't be," Gimli promised him. "At least not yet."

Thranduil nodded with an excited glint in his eyes. "I will not be going far," he chimed in. "Gimli has been kind enough to offer me a place to stay at his house."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

After the elven king and the dwarf lord had exited and Ioreth had brought the bottle and left, Aragorn and Legolas were finally alone with their son. The Man watched with awe at the loving and wise expression that came to Legolas' face as he fed Eldarion and knew that he was as happy as he'd ever been because he'd never looked more beautiful. While Aragorn enjoyed feeding the baby himself, witnessing his husband do it had its merits as well. "I love you, Legolas," he said.

"I love you too, Aragorn."

"I think this is going to work out fine," the Man declared. "We managed to watch over four hobbits on a long and dangerous journey; at least we'll be mostly stationary for Eldarion's rearing."

"As I recall," said Legolas dryly, "we also _lost_ all four hobbits: two to the uruk-hai and two ran away."

"Don't remember the bad parts," advised Aragorn cheerfully, his stomach churning slightly as he remembered. A change of topic was in order. "It was certainly nice of your father to offer to move out to give us our space, and Gimli to let him stay with him." A puzzled look danced across his face. "Legolas…I've been wondering…your father and Gimli…are they – together?"

Rolling his eyes, Legolas replied, "I've asked them both; separately and together. Each time they've asked me if it would change the way how I felt about them if it was true or not. When I've told them it wouldn't, they've just asked me why it mattered if I knew then. I honestly can't tell if they're involved or if they're not but are enjoying making people wonder. As long as they're happy I don't really mind which one it is."

Aragorn could accept that, especially since he had a more significant question on his mind. "Earlier you said that Eldarion is the last child in Middle-earth with elvish blood from both parents and one completely elvish parent _so far_," he noted. Legolas glanced away from the baby to give his husband more attention. "Do you truly want to have more children? After what just happened…"

"Not right now," replied Legolas with exaggerated exasperation. "I need a little time to recover! But someday, eventually, yes I do. We know what to expect now; we can find out I'm pregnant earlier on and take the necessary precautions to make the pregnancy go better and the birth less perilous. I never had any sibling; I look at your relationship with the twins and want Eldarion to have something like that in his life too."

"I like the sound of that," said Aragorn, leaning in to give Legolas a deep, loving kiss on the mouth. After they broke apart he watched his son in his husband's arms and imagined what other miracles that their love would bring into being in the future.

The end.

_A/N: Thank you to everyone who read this story and especially to those of you who took the time to review! I really enjoyed writing it._

_I decided not to make it clear whether or not Thranduil and Gimli were more than just friends.In the end I couldn't decide, so I'll leave it up to you: whatever you think, that's what the answer is. _:)

_Sorry to everyone who was disappointed with the fact that I didn't include a scene of the actual birth. My lack of knowledge on what goes on during that would have made anything I wrote featuring it pretty lame. Besides, there was a lot of blood involved in this particular birth and that sort of thing makes me a little squeamish._

_A few of you have asked about the possibility of a sequel. I wouldn't be opposed to that, but since I have no idea what the plot would be, it won't be written for a while if it's written at all. I'm turning my attention at the moment to a few other plot bunnies that have been bugging me, including another companion piece to this series featuring a young Legolas._


End file.
